


Hankerings

by AlexiaMorana



Series: Bottom of the Deep Blue [2]
Category: Detroit: Become Human (Video Game)
Genre: Alcohol, Alcohol Abuse/Alcoholism, Complete, Cross-Posted on FanFiction.Net, Depressed Hank Anderson, Eventual Fluff, Explicit Language, F/M, Grief/Mourning, Implied/Referenced Self-Harm, Oral Sex, POV First Person, POV Original Female Character, Post-Android Revolution (Detroit: Become Human), Prequel, Recreational Drug Use, Red Ice (Detroit: Become Human), Sex, Smoking, Social Commentary, Unhealthy Coping Mechanisms, Unhealthy Relationships
Language: English
Status: Completed
Published: 2019-10-26
Updated: 2020-09-29
Packaged: 2021-01-03 11:03:05
Rating: Mature
Warnings: No Archive Warnings Apply
Chapters: 14
Words: 51,502
Publisher: archiveofourown.org
Story URL: https://archiveofourown.org/works/21178352
Author URL: https://archiveofourown.org/users/AlexiaMorana/pseuds/AlexiaMorana
Summary: Pre-game, c. 2037. "If You're Not A Bartender Then Go Away". Probably the most important sticker Hank would place at his desk. Hank Anderson begrudgingly strikes up something resembling a friendship with one of his many bartenders, except this one actually gives half a damn.-----(Chps 1-7 are a prequel to the game. Ch 8-14 is post-game.)





	1. Part 1 - Enablers

We weren’t his most frequented location; that would be Jimmy’s five blocks north. Hank had been coming here irregularly over the past couple years, a new patron born of the same stories I heard from so many others. Divorce, death, drugs, depression, and no one to accompany him on these nightly endeavors to the bottom of a glass. With each subsequent turn to midnight, he was slowly getting worse, sometimes coming to ours after already hitting one or two prior, with darker eyes and tighter fists around etched glass tumblers.

The very first night I met Hank I was late to my shift, car having stalled out on a side road just before the green light; it was the day after Thanksgiving of '35 when all were picking up their shiny new androids as part of the Black Friday sales, the violent peak of consumerism in a day and age where, even with the tantalizing erotic thrill of online shopping from your toilet seat, people still needed to participate in the physical selfish sadomasochism of _ going to the mall _.

_ I am thankful for my friends, family, and this killer stuffing and potatoes. Now gimmie a fucking television, you prick. _

I didn’t recognize him at first but I had seen the recent story in the news about his son, the photographs and disrespectful cameras in grieving faces; it was on every local channel due to his status in the police force. An intrusion into his personal life set on repeat over the course of a week from accident to funeral that we all knew led to this spiral and my heart broke for the man. His heart and his identity went into the dark and silent ground to be with his son, morphed and transformed into something grim and unrecognizable. I almost dared to open my mouth to a coworker but was silenced with a jab to my ribs and a nod to shut the _ fuck _ up and take care of him with a steady amber stream.

_ That’s a sad story, John. Next to Nancy for the weather. _

It wasn’t until a few months later under slowly growing hair and free-fired middle fingers that he alluded to divorce, going on a tirade about that _ fucking bitch _ leaving him for some _ fucking cocksucker _ because at least that _ fucking prick _ was _ sober _.

With each clattered stool against grubby floor tiles, he would stay until we kicked him out with the other imbibers of routine squalor, but my guilt rode home with him unacknowledged in the Oldsmobile’s bumpy trunk. 

Over the past year, I had started to drive him home on nights when he was too drunk to make it back safely. Every time I cut him off, his hand snuck behind the counter and he’d toss me a twenty for my troubles and honestly, I needed the cash. Sobriety was a lost cause; hauling his drunk ass was the least I could do.

The first time I decided to act as chauffeur, I yelled at him to stay put until I was done closing. 

"Not interested in a hookup, honey."

"Neither am I, jackass. I'm taking you home."

"You don't even know where I live."

"I know you're not far from Eden. You've pointed that out enough. Now let's move it."

I nearly had to drag him to my car as he gave me a _“The fuck you doing?” _before I strapped him in like a cantankerous child. 

After a couple of nights like this, he acclimated to my offers without much complaint but little spoken gratitude given my own pain-in-the-dick attitude.

_ Hard to say no to a woman with easy access to the gun in your pants _.

We didn't talk much during these rides, perhaps a comment on the _ shitty weather _ or _ fucking androids _. Perhaps his pride clogged his throat, not wanting to depend on others, but resigned to do so given his inebriation. On several occasions, I helped him puke up in his front yard, holding his hair back and wiping his mouth on my sleeve, and I at least made sure he made it inside his house before heading home myself.

He owed me several new shirts and one pair of pants which I was able to purchase given his hefty tips in shot glasses.

Each time he returned with unspoken thanks by way of a few more bucks shoved in my apron pockets and subtle nods, never telling me exactly _ why _ he was doing this to himself, though it was fairly obvious to discern given the aforementioned news broadcasts and loss of family.

He spent holidays at the bars, his birthday, always alone, focused on the games on TV, maybe a round of pool, maybe getting into - and winning - a couple fights, and never once mentioning his personal horrors; the night already knew and would hold his grief for as long as he was still alive to experience it. I feared there may not be too many nights left for the man.

One such night in early fall of ‘37, I finally couldn't take the sight of his struggles; I helped him out of my car and we trudged up to his front door. His bickering grumbles of_“ I’m fine” _ fell to the concrete steps as I fished the keys out of his jacket pocket - _“Hey hey, no touching!” - _and tossed him inside where he collapsed nose first on the floor.

“Jesus Christ,” he groaned. He managed to push himself up enough that I was able to wheelbarrow drag him into the bathroom. This was the first time I had actually made it inside his house, past the sofa with clothes piled over, the trashbags filled on the floor but not removed, bottles lining the hallway in the style of an airport tarmac. His gigantic Saint Bernard came over to sniff to make sure all was well with his drunken out-of-sorts owner and taken care of before he lumbered off to stretch out on the only naked patch of hardwood floor.

_ Dad’s fine. _

Hank collapsed in front of the toilet, head hung low in wait for the waterfall.

More like a _ deluge_.

I sat next to him against the bathtub.

“You can go home, Alex. Don’t really need you watching me.”

“I disagree, Hank. I think -”

I bolted forward to tuck the hair behind his ears and hold a hand to his back as the sick started.

“ - I think I’m going to stay here til you’re done.”

Between coughs, he managed to glare at me. “Don't need you."

“Yeah, ya do. I’m guessing I’m the only person you got who actually helps you get home. Am I right?”

He grunted again and laid his forehead on his arms against the seat. I flushed the toilet and he collapsed back on his palms, head hung heavy, panting in disgust.

“Fucking Christ. If you’re gonna start inviting yourself in, how 'bout you make yourself useful and get me a goddamn shirt.”

I left him on the bathroom floor where he was groaning into the tiles and found an old DPD shirt from the floor beside his bed. I shook it out. _ Not stained, at least_. I tossed it at him upon return but he didn’t budge.

“Do you need help?” I asked.

“What?”

“Come on.” I bent down, planting my feet firmly to either side of his head and began to peel the shirt up and over - he didn't even bother struggling against me, he was so fucked up - tossing it at the hamper in the corner. I didn’t have long to look, but this revealed a large chest tattoo, some traditional-Americana-like piece with a feminine profile in the middle.

“Woah, hey, no need to be ogling, I got it.” He snatched the clean shirt from where I had thrown it on the floor, managing to at least sit cross-legged as he covered himself.

“You can leave now,” he said. He started to stand but grabbed my arm for support and I tugged him straight up, only releasing after his eyes focused and he peered down at me again. “I’m fine, Alex. Go home.”

I sighed in resignation. “Okay. I’ll make sure your dog has food before I leave. You’re gonna be out for a while.”

“Sumo,” he said. “His name is Sumo.”

I reluctantly left Hank to the bathroom as I scooped out sufficient dinner for Sumo and then departed for the night.

* * *

A couple weeks passed before he returned, his usual turnaround time. He clattered into his stool and I slid over to greet him with a napkin.

“Hey, thanks for uh, you know...”

_ That must have been hard for him to admit. _

“Don’t worry about it, Hank. But I need to start cutting you off a little sooner. I hate seeing you like that.”

“Got a better idea. Just fuckin' drive me home.”

“Naturally.”

When I dropped him off shortly before midnight, I hesitated on the gear shift. I was concerned and vastly overdue to ignore his wishes. I shifted back into Park and jogged up the short sidewalk to help him with the front door.

“Fuck you doin’?”

As I scooped him to my side in one arm and kicked the door open with my opposite foot, I helped him over the threshold, knocking the door closed with my heel.

“Have you ever stopped to think that _ maybe _ you should try sobering up for Sumo?”

“I don’t appreciate the guilt trip, Alex. Sumo’s _fine_. Go home.”

I finally released him and he dragged himself to his bathroom without removing any of his outerwear and also without shutting the door as I heard him unzip.

Daringly, I went over and leaned against the wall just outside the open door. I heard a flush and the clatter of the toilet lid, then a heavy clank indicating he must have sat down. I turned the corner to witness him bent over, head full in his hands, fingers hidden under that messy threaded mop.

“What do you want now?” he groaned.

I entered and plopped down opposite him against the sink cabinet. His bathroom was spacious enough I could stretch out my legs.

“Gonna start bringing you home sooner.”

“You said that and I don’t see you following through, which makes you a fuckin' liar.”

“Yeah, well...I can't afford not to make those fat tips…Look, I get why you’re doing this. Why you feel like you have to drown yourself every week. Wish I could. It’s been too long.”

“You know fuck all… And too long since what?”

“Story for another time, Hank.”

“You start blabbering, just fucking tell me. Need a distraction from this headache. Made the stupid mistake of going to the doctors, gave me some shit for my heart.”

“Mixing alcohol and prescription meds now? Come on. You know better than that.”

“Wish I didn’t. Spit it out.”

“You and I...we met before. Years ago. My brother was caught up in your task force raid. I remember when I paid his bail, you were there, gave me the nastiest _ fuck you _look, like I shouldn’t be putting him back out on the streets. Thing is, you were right. He OD’d three days later. Sometimes I wonder if I had left him where you put him, if he’d still be alive.”

Hank looked at me with a gradual sobering realization. “_ Shit_, you’re right. You were what, 17?”

“Hah, not quite. I was 22, he was 20.”

“Jesus. You’re young.”

“Oh fuck off, Hank. I'm 32. I'm not that young and I sure don’t feel like it. Not after growing up with a brother like that. It puts you through the wringer. Believe it or not, he was a good kid when we were young. But then, I dunno, peer pressure or something caught up to him. He got wrapped up with the wrong crew and fucked it up after that. I could only try to help so many times. Almost ten years ago. Feels like yesterday you were wishing for my head at the station.”

The man I had seen back then and the one sitting before me now were strangers to each other; a model police officer, clean and trim, wouldn’t dare imagine himself to be sitting where he was now, fucked up on the bathroom floor with a girl that wasn’t his wife.

He sat up just enough to clasp his hands between his knees.

“Sorry to hear that,” he said.

“Don’t be. It was ages ago...Hank, you got a bit of uh -” I wagged a finger at his beard. “I think it’s chicken.”

He vigorously combed his fingers through, missing it at every turn. I giggled and stood, wetting a small towel in the sink then returned to wipe down his face. “I don't even remember you eating anything. You look like shit.” He grimaced at first, slowly relaxing as I went over his eyes and mouth, picking out the lost poultry from between his hairs to flick into the garbage can in the corner.

His eyes darted around, unsure where to settle. The spot on the tiles would do.

“Look, I’ll uh, I’ll get going, I think. You’re not as bad as last time. But I would _ really _ like to clean up your house for you.”

“Don’t start inviting yourself over, Alex. I walk around naked and no one needs to see that. Especially not a young girl like you.”

“Oh for fuck’s sake, Hank. Please.”

“What?”

“I already told you to fuck off with this _young_ shit. Second, it probably wouldn’t be the worst dick I’ve ever seen. I’m going now. All right? If I don’t see you at the bar, then I’ll drop by to make sure you’re doing okay. I need to sanitize this place, holy _ shit _."

"Gonna regret it," he said.

"We're not discussing your cock anymore, Hank. Good _ night _."

We kept this routine up for a few more visits during which time, despite his constant agitation and griping -

_ "The fuck you keep following me in for? "_

_"Told you I don't need your help."_

_"Thought I told you to fuck off, Al." _

\- I gave his house a thorough scrub and did his laundry as he sat on the couch with his drinks and television and LPs, ignoring me at every moment until he’d pass out in numb satisfaction.

_ I should have invested in some medical masks for this chore because his boxers were just a tad too ripe. _

**Notes for the Chapter:**

> Welcome. This is the story of Hank's old mystery woman, first introduced in my other fic, 'Experiences, Connor.' This story stands by itself but the second half overlaps with 'E, C'. (Also if anyone's wondering about Hank's tattoo, it's from the game's concept art by Mikael Leger.)


	2. Sumo's Approval

Hank was all hot air, I realized. I'd drive his drunk ass home and drop him inside then get to cleaning up. He'd yell and curse at me before absorbing more alcohol into his blood and forget what he was griping about.

He took me up on an offer a couple times to check on Sumo during the day while he was at work and prior to my own shift. The spare key under a loose stone granted me entry to the man's rancid hideaway.

It had taken me quite a bit of convincing to be allowed this permission; it was only when I started yelling that Sumo needed to watch his diet, that Hank obliged.

"_Fine. Jesus, if it gets you off my balls, he could use the attention." _

I had the night off one Friday in mid-September and remained at his house to finalize a deep clean of the kitchen and bathroom before running the half-rusted mower over his lawn. Sumo kept me quiet company in and out of the house until his dad returned to witness me sitting on the floor with his dining table upturned so I could tighten the bolts.

"The hell did you do to my house? Like a fucking Hilton. You didn't have to do all that, Alex. What’re you doing down there?"

I relayed to him my accomplishments of the day before upending the table back into position. No more wobble.

"Sorry, I know I went a little nuts. You just... you had a lot that needed done."

He eyed me up, probably not sure what to make of or say to this intruder. I stayed in the kitchen, putting back everything that had been on the table prior as he made his rounds.

“So what, you’re my maid now? Am I supposed to pay you?”

“I mean, I won’t say no,” I chuckled. “I’ll get going, though.” I rounded the table to his opposite side and grabbed my coat where I had flung it across his sofa.

“Hey,” he said. “Hold the fuck up. It’s pizza night. Best I can offer you in exchange for fucking up my house.”

“Are you sure you still want me around? God forbid I might take out the trash when we’re done. Then what’re you going to do? Let me eat your Oreos?”

“I’ll consider it,” he said flatly. “You staying or what?”

“Yeah, sure, I could go for that. Thanks.”

_ Hank. Being nice. It was like a fucking miracle. _

I made myself comfortable on his sofa, Sumo coming over to investigate before situating himself sprawled next to me, his giant head in my lap.

Hank called to place the order and then joined in his recliner, eyeing Sumo and I up, amused at these arrangements. “Never seen him like that with anyone so quick before.”

“You have a lot of guests, Hank?”

“Nah,” he said. He took a sip of his beer, still observing this phenomenon in his home.

“I wish you’d take a break,” I said.

“Hey, it’s bad enough you come in here and make this place look like fucking Cinderella’s castle. You met your domestic quota for the next few months. Thanks but no thanks, Alex.”

“Sure you don’t want me to braid your hair next? Get you some fucking clips? Okay, you’re right; I’d feel better if you didn’t do it alone, that's all.”

“You want one?”

“Sure.”

He pushed himself back up with a grunt, returning with a tap to my shoulder. I grabbed the bottle with a nod of thanks, continuing to scratch Sumo’s ears idly as I drank.

“And you tell me I’m the one with the problem,” Hank noted. “Just gave that to you and it’s half gone. You don’t swallow or what?”

I nearly sputtered in laugher. No need to spurt beer over his flooring. Though my next task was to wax and steam clean….

“That’s what she said,” I muttered into the mouth of the bottle.

Hank paused and raised an eyebrow at me. “That’s one I haven’t heard for a long time.”

“Yeah, well, not to make you feel _old_, but it still comes up every once in a while with my folks. I basically grew up on old reruns of _ The Office_. Kind of a staple as a kid.”

“Huh...”

“I can’t even tell you the last time I had a beer,” I said. “I dunno, being around it all day and seeing folks drink all day, kinda loses the appeal after a while.”

“You’re doing it now.”

“Yeah, well, like I’ve said, I’d rather you not do it alone. Which is my excuse to drink more than you so you’ve got nothing left for yourself.”

“Great… well what’s your drink of choice so you don’t fuckin’ guzzle my entire case?”

“Rum and coke.”

“Don’t have any of that. Next time.”

I didn’t dwell too much on that statement, _ Next time_.

We half-assed watching the news for a bit until the food arrived shortly after. Sumo was kind enough to relinquish my legs so I could grab the delivery and set up on the kitchen table.

“Don’t make me get up. Just bring it over.”

“Oh my God, fine!”

“Hey, I’m doing us a favor. No dishes.”

I settled myself on the floor to lean against the sofa while we ate in silence, the news talking about something or other with Russia and the Arctic and Thirium.

“You know what’s weird, Hank?”

“That you won’t shut the fuck up?”

“Hah. Hah. I remember when I was little having to tip the pizza delivery guy. Now it’s…” I trailed off. _ Fucked up_.

He grumbled as he finished his bite, taking a final swig of his beer. “Fuckin’ hate them.”

He said this so definitively, and while I wanted to ask why and push for a bit more description, I kept my mouth shut. “Yeah,” I said instead. “I know plenty of people who were replaced. Nowhere for them to go except try to leave.”

45 minutes, two pizzas, and five beers later, I was comfortably sprawled on the floor with Hank’s dog. I caught his eye upside down; the man managed to break a thin smile at the sight which I returned in kind. It was probably the alcohol talking - I forgot how much of a _ lightweight _ I was - but Hank wasn’t bad-looking. Grizzled handsome, actually. He had that _ fresh-out-of-bed-fuck-this-world-and-fuck-you-too _ look that invited more thoughts that included the word _ fuck _ . He was probably much more fit back in the day but it was obvious the years had taken a toll. Still, _ not bad_. He'd make a nice addition to this pile.

I gave Sumo a push to indicate he needed to move. The pressure was building in my bladder and if I didn’t get over there soon, things would get bad. As I rolled over and let out a horrendous, _ very _unladylike burp, at which I laughed hysterically, Hank muttered, “Jesus Christ. You sound like me.”

“Oh no, no no, Hank, you were making _much _worse noises. The fuck did you have for lunch?” I pushed up and gave myself a second. I had been lying down for too long. I treated myself to his bathroom, coming back out to see Hank clipping Sumo’s leash to his collar.

“You coming? Don’t want to leave you here, you might clean something again.”

“Smart,” I said. I grabbed Hank’s arm as I pulled on my boots to steady myself.

“You are a lightweight. Gonna have to work on that,” he said as we left.

“What’re you saying, Hank. Trying to get me drunk?” I teased.

“Don’t be weird. Bad enough my bartender’s become my housecleaner. Don’t need you hitting on me.”

As we rounded to the sidewalk, I retorted, “Yeah, heaven forbid a woman finds you attractive.”

I was a couple steps behind him and the dog. He tossed his head back to peer at me. “Thought I told you not to be weird.”

I raised my hands in defense. “Sorry! I take it back. I think you’re ugly as fuck and I never want to see you again. I'll grab a brown bag for your fucking face and doodle an ass on the front.”

“That’s better,” he said.

We walked a couple more minutes in silence before my stupidity spoke up again. “Does that really make you uncomfortable?”

“Hm?”

“That I think you’re attractive.”

“I think it’s the beer talking.”

We stopped so Sumo could do his business at the end of the block. Hank stared off at the construction site but my gaze lingered a second too long and he gave me that look again, that suspicious _ What-the-fuck-do-you-want _ look.

“I’m sorry,” I said.

“No, you're not. Don’t you have anyone your own age you could be with? I’ve seen guys flirt with you at the bar. Couple chicks, too.”

I scoffed. “People my age.. Most of them have become so fascinated with android partners, The Eden Club. Dating went out the window the second guys realized they could have a woman who didn’t talk back. Why would I want someone who can’t hold a conversation? You know... they - it would be hard enough at this age even without androids. People getting married and having kids. Then just the singles left over. Except now even them, they’re in these weird ‘relationships’ with...with the androids. I wouldn’t want to even try to step between that. So. Yeah, I would rather spend time with you and your mess because at least it’s _real_. It’s tangible. You drown it in Scotch instead of plastic and at least I can admire your rejection of these things. I get why you and all our other patrons make their rounds and come night after night. It’s either that or be out _here _with… I dunno what. There’s not a lot left.”

“You get deep when you’re drunk.”

“I am...delightfully yet introspectively tipsy. It’s a nice place to be.”

We started back down the block to his place. Only the faintest sense of embarrassment was rattling around in my mind, numbed by the food and beer and the gradually chilled air as the fall was beginning to settle.

Upon return, I collected the boxes and bottles and took everything out to the garbage bin before Hank could stop me, during which time he changed out of his work clothes and into sweatpants and a t-shirt.

“Thought you told me you lived here naked, Hank,” I said as he detoured into the kitchen.

“Can’t do that with you around.”

“I’m not gonna stop you. Would have to find the Lysol for your ass, though.”

“Hey, I’m perfectly sanitary.”

He settled back in his chair with a beer in hand, and then placed one more on the coffee table.

“Thanks,” I said. Maybe he thought my half-assed confession from outside was a joke. Maybe he didn’t give a shit. Maybe he just wanted the company.

I accepted and settled back into the sofa, feet crossed and propped up before me. Sumo returned and lay beneath my legs.

After a couple minutes, Hank stared at his dog and gestured with his bottle. “Maybe he knows something I don’t,” he said.

“What do you mean?”

He shook his head, drawing his attention back to the TV for a few moments.

“Hank?”

He held the bottle in his fist against his face in thought before pointing down at the beast. “Never even did that with my ex-wife. Always stayed with me or…” he trailed off, again returning to watch the news.

“Your son,” I offered.

He looked back at me, brow furrowed with thin lips, fingers curling into the armrest.

“I’m sorry,” I said in a sigh. “I’m sorry…” Not a topic I should have brought up.

“You know about that?”

I nodded almost imperceptibly. “Yeah, I remember from the news a couple years ago. Not too long after was the first time you showed up at the bar. I remember running into Jimmy at the 7-11 once, said you started showing up at his as well. I mean, obviously, it’s not like other officers don’t drop by, but you were gaining notoriety among us as a good tipper. Anyway, I’m sorry for mentioning him.”

“Yeah.”

We sat in silence and I sipped the beer, much more slowly this time around, the air hung thick with Hank’s memories. Sumo maneuvered again to join me on the cushions. _ You’re not going anywhere, Lady. _

Hank tilted another small smile at the sight. “Too weird.”

“What?”

“That,” he pointed his bottle at us. “Fuckin weird how much he likes you.”

“Well, dogs tend to be good judges of character. I’m honored.”

“Think I might be a little jealous.”

“Of me or Sumo?”

“Didn’t I already tell you not to be weird.”

“I can’t win with you, can I? Either I’m weird cause I think you’re hot, or I’m weird because your dog has taken a fancy to me, or I’m weird for cleaning up your house. God, is there anything about me you _don’t _find weird? _ Shit_, Hank.”

He paused, likely taken aback by the first part of that statement but chose to ignore it for now. “Not really.”

“You know, you’re a little more transparent than you might think.”

“What’s that supposed to mean?”

“It means you have had plenty of chances to kick me out tonight. And you haven’t. So maybe you’re not entirely _ weirded _ out by my company.”

He grunted. “You want another one?”

_ I give up_. “Sure. Thanks.”

He returned and squeezed into the sofa at the ass-end of his dog. Sumo rearranged himself so I got the tail and rear and Hank received the muzzle and giant eyes. Hank stretched his arm out to hand over the beer which I took and held on the armrest at my side.

“You know why I drink,” he said. “So why the hell do you? Could be out downtown instead of with an old man.”

I scoffed again. “You’re not old, Hank. Please.”

“Older than you.”

“Oh for Christsakes, can you stop pointing out the age difference. You’re making me feel like a fucking golddigger. All right, I have no shame. I’ve dated older men before. Get over yourself. God, at least you don’t have a secret android girlfriend. Right? Figured I would have found one by now. And if you want to know why I need to drink it’s because ten years ago to the day was when I found my brother bleeding from his eyeballs in a playground after he overdosed. Still had the stupid fucking pipe in his hand.”

I spat out that last sentence like a horrible chewy piece of steak, wanting to keep it inside for as long as possible but it was too much to hold back now.

“Okay? So forgive me if I just want to spend some time with someone who _gets _what a little first-hand death does to a person. You cleaned up the streets best you could back then but it still got my brother. And I’m not - I’m in no way blaming you or any of the others for missing that one specific stash. Shit’s always gonna be out there.” I bit back my lips and mindlessly stared off towards Hank’s computer in the corner, pressing the back of my hand to my mouth to hold in whatever dared to spew forth; tears, more confessions, perhaps. 

“I hadn’t told anyone about that night before,” I added. My eyes burned now.

“Fuck,” Hank said.

I looked back at him and forced a thin smile. His own default tired and worn out expression hadn’t changed, though perhaps pity and concern now etched the corners of his eyes. 

“Yeah. Well, every year it gets easier and I feel guilty for that. I can’t help but keep wondering. I shouldn’t have paid that bail. He seemed okay the first day or two when he was with me. Then he just...disappeared. Found his car, found him. This is so royally fucked up, but half the reason why I stay in this job is to help people forget what this world is doing to them. I... enable forgetfulness. But I don’t know if we’re supposed to forget. That’s the horrible thing, isn’t it?”

I ran both hands along Sumos’ lower back, lightly tugging at the hairs, not hard enough to pull, just for my fingers to trace. I held back tears now, the pressure thoroughly aided by the alcohol.

Hank was the first to break the silence after a few minutes. “There’s one part they didn’t tell you in the news.” He looked over me, eyes washing over my face. “Cole needed emergency surgery after the accident but the fucking human doctor was high as shit. Android took over, wasn’t able to help. I know it’s not a competition, but I _ really _ fucking hate the time we’re living in right now. I dunno, Alex, if it wasn’t for Sumo, I’d have driven off a fucking bridge by now.”

My eyes stung at the mutual tragedies and I reached over for a moment to squeeze his hand atop Sumo’s head.

“I’m sorry,” I said. I didn’t linger and took my hand back.

“You wanna tell me about the guy with the secret android?”

I managed to laugh, rubbing my eyes once with my palm and then looked back over at Hank.

“Yeah, that’s a fun story. That was fucked up. I had been seeing this guy for a few months. And I should have seen the red flag immediately. He had this like, storage shed in his back yard. Frankly, I didn’t think twice about it too often cause it was a shed. You know, for gardening and stuff. But there was one day I was going over and I’m about to open the front door to the house and there’s this real faint banging coming from the shed.”

“Oh _ fuck _, don’t tell me. You caught them?”

“Yeah. I didn’t even say anything, I just fucking _ bolted _back to the car. Wasn’t until I had my foot on the gas I see him running out, dick still hard, the android is standing right behind him half-naked. I swear, it was like some fucked up horror movie because you know, they’re so _still_. It was just - I laugh about it now because it’s so messed up. He had the balls to text me after and try to confess to everything and defend himself. I never understood why people cheated even before androids and like come on, I don’t care that they’re not human, I’d be equally weirded out if it was a blow-up doll or something.”

Hank chuckled. “My roommate in college had one of those. You want to talk about fucked up. Those things are disgusting.”

“_ Yeah _.” 

“You got any more fucked up stories you want to share? Might help take my mind off you calling me hot. And you know, all this other depressing shit.”

I pushed out a deep sigh. “Oh for fuck’s Jesus’ sake, Hank!” I said, releasing myself from Sumo’s butt. I stepped over to awkwardly bend in front of the man, pressed one hand beside his head into the cushion, took his face in a tight unrelenting grip with my other, planting a firm full _weird _kiss on his startled, slightly parted mouth for a solid five seconds. When I released, I stood straight up and took a half step back, hands on hips, “There’s a distraction for you. You got a fuckin’ problem with that?” He didn’t answer, wide-eyed and perfectly still. Sumo hadn’t moved either. _ Good dog_. My heart was about to pound through my chest after the night’s drinks and discussions. I felt my hands quivering at my sides as I continued to stare down at the man, daring him to say one more word.

“I have to piss,” I said instead. Too much beer. I ran a hand over his head and slipped away.

Hank and the dog hadn’t moved when I returned. I shakily stepped over Hank’s legs and plopped down back on the sofa.

“The fuck was that for?” he finally muttered, looking at me with the eyes of a man who just woke from a coma.

I shrugged and tossed up a hand. “I wanted to. Wasn’t bad, Hank. Fuckin’ sue me.”

“I might have to. Emotional damages. Gonna file a report with Fowler for assaulting a police officer.”

I laughed and leaned back and ran my hands down my face, sucking my bottom lip to taste the kiss. “You are _ really _ good at making me feel bad about myself.”

“I just don’t get it.”

“Well you’ve already established that you think I’m young and you can fuck right off with that. Maybe listen to your dog, Hank. Apparently he likes me more than your ex-wife, so I’m going to take some points for that even if you can’t admit it.”

“Not admitting shit.”

Conveniently, or perhaps to Hank’s contempt, Sumo decided to get up and take his corner bed by the computer, leaving us with just enough awkward space on the sofa that neither would immediately fill.

“Fine. Then why am I still here?”

“Cause you’re a pain in the ass.”

“Uh-huh. Says the man who, after I told him he was attractive, gives me even more to drink. Yeah, whatever you say, Hank.”

“If you think I’m trying to get you drunk, you’re more fucked up than I thought.”

“That’s not what I’m thinking at all. I don’t think you’re like that with women. I think that you actually _do _like my company but you’re too much of a gentleman or your head is so far up your own ass that you don’t want to admit that this isn’t the most uncomfortable night of your life. Maybe you’re enjoying yourself and some part of you actually welcomes this intrusion because it’s a distraction from your nights here alone or out at the bars. Look, I’ll go home if you really don’t want me here. I don’t want to overstep and ruin our friendship. Okay, it’s all right. But I think we’ve had a fairly relaxing evening. I needed this, too. So we can just leave it there.”

I couldn’t get a read on the man; he probably couldn’t get one himself. We sat in pronounced silence for a few minutes before I told him to lie down. “Come here,” I said.

“What? Just told me to fuckin’ lie down, that’s what I’m doing.”

“No, just, oh for shit’s sake, this way.” I waved a hand over. He either wasn’t getting it or bordering on too drunk to comprehend. “I _ promise _ I won’t kiss you again. I can see how disgusted it made you.”

He glared at me, apprehensive, but whatever might have begun to flicker on in his brain over the course of the night encouraged him to stretch out on his back as fully as he could, legs perched up on the opposite armrest, arms tightly crossed against his chest, and relaxed his head back properly in my lap.

Tentatively, I placed one hand along his forearm, another on his head.

“The fuck you doing?”

“Playing with your hair. Shut the fuck up and close your eyes. Time for you to go night-night, Hank.”

“_Weirdo _.”

“You call me that one more time and I’m gonna kiss you again.”

He grumbled and tightened within himself, turning his head slightly to the side towards the fireplace. I’m not sure how long we laid like this, fifteen minutes or so, my fingers idling along his scalp, tucking and untucking the hair from behind his ear. Frankly, I was surprised he let me do this for so long, but it was innocent enough and I could feel him start to relax, however begrudgingly. Thoughts drifted past as I felt myself ever slowly beginning to nod off. We must have mutually passed out for a bit because I felt myself jerk awake; I had sunk a couple inches deeper into the cushions, Sumo now lay under my stretched out legs again, and Hank was snoring. Vigorously.

My head was swimming from the long day and the beer and I was a little flustered. Flustered at myself for having begun to develop an attraction to this crotchety cooch over the past several weeks, flustered at him for continuously and repetitively noting my age, and yet, I could understand the firm hesitation and questioning. I wouldn’t dare ask unless he offered, but I had gathered from his late-night grumblings at the bar that his divorce occurred after the death of his son and then during his descent into alcoholism. I’m guessing he never got back into dating and sex wasn’t one of the new dangerous addictions he had developed. If I was anyone else, I wouldn’t be instigating or encouraging his drinking, perhaps not even participating, but one thing I’ve learned with my patrons over the years, there was no stopping it.

It was this world, the constant bullshit brought on us by _advancements _in technology which only encouraged homelessness and unemployment, drug use and alcohol. A disconnect from the social structure in which there were barely even live events anymore with the monopolizing demand for VR and artificial sex over at Eden. I never allowed myself to get swept up in this new technology like so many of my peers over the years because I saw what it did to them. Androids were supposed to free people up to enjoy their lives instead of being bogged down by _chores _and helping their children with _homework_, heaven forbid. But instead, they just meandered aimlessly. For those that still had jobs, they’d come home and smoke or drink because it was _so _much easier to imbibe than it was to do something _constructive _with their lives.

I could only begin to imagine the hatred this man felt towards androids and the drugs. After doing so much during his time on the force to rid it from the streets and yet, just as it took my brother, it had taken his son. He must have felt useless in those moments of realization. _ What did they miss_? He probably wondered. _ How did they miss so many connections_?

He snorted himself awake and I giggled. He looked up at me. “What you laughing at?”

“You sound like a pig.” I mimicked his snoring which evolved into a fit of giggles.

“You saying that cause I’m a cop?”

“I guess I am.” I snorted again, waking Sumo up in the process. _ I’m so sorry, boy, but your daddy is a noisy bastard. _

Hank pushed himself up from my lap to sit properly back against the cushions, leaving only an inch or so between us as I devolved into a mess of the giggles.

“Yeah, well you sound like me after a bender and you’re nearly half my size so where the fuck does that all come from? Huh? _ Fuck_, I don’t think my ass can take this sofa anymore. I need to get to bed,” he said. He didn’t move immediately, gathering his surroundings before he could stand.

I stretched out on my side away from him and splayed my legs over his own with an arm under my head.

“And it looks like you’re staying here. Great," he said. 

“What, you want me to follow you? I’m flattered,” I said flatly. It was a tease; I didn’t move but I heard Hank sigh.

“_Christ_, you’re a weird girl. Ah, _fuck_.”

Just as he was about to push himself up, I twisted onto my back and maneuvered into a kneeling position at his side, gripping his face with my hands for another firm kiss. “I _ told _you what would happen,” I whispered into his mouth upon release. He didn’t mutter anything or push back or even grumble this time, allowing me to try again, gradually coaxing him to respond, however subtly. His left hand was still down on the cushion, his right was tight to his thigh. Without breaking from his mouth, I pivoted around to dig my right knee against his left leg to position myself in a proper straddle. I felt him tentatively place both hands on my waist and gave this situation a few more seconds before pulling back to break the kiss with widened eyes.

“Hey, woah, hold up, Alex. You uh - hey. Ah _ fuck _. You need to get up and go home. Go!”

I paused for a half-second before I realized exactly _why _ I needed to leave right _now_. I did as I was told and scrambled off as Hank stood and shuffled down the hallway.

“I’m sorry,” I said. I don’t know if he heard me but I said it again as I gathered my things and departed for the night.


	3. Riverside Park

The following night I was at Riverside Park enjoying some peace and quiet on the swings, overlooking the Detroit River towards Canada. I hadn’t renewed my passport for a while. _I should do that and take a weekend across, just for the hell of it_.

I heard a car crunch up behind me but I didn’t turn around. There were constantly people hanging out in this park who shouldn’t be, especially at this hour. I wasn’t too put off when the headlights dimmed and there were several long solid minutes of silence again. I eventually heard someone approach on foot. “The fuck are you doing here? Christ, I can't even get a moment's peace.”

I looked over my shoulder, slowing my movement with a stiff heel into the gravel. I was surprised he even got out of his car after what happened last night. It was hard for me to look at him; I felt foolish.

Hank came over and leaned against the thick metal frame of the swingset, looking over at me with that suspicious policeman gaze.

“Could ask you the same thing,” I said. “How do you know about this place?”

“How do you think?”

“Ah... I’m sorry. That was insensitive. Do you uh - come here a lot?”

“Only when I got a lot to think about.”

“Same.”

Hank cocked his head up in thought for a moment. “_Shit_. Said he died in a playground. Guessing this is it.”

I turned around in the swing, one foot pushing around at a time until I was facing the rest of the lot. I pointed at a spot in the grass a few yards ahead. “Every spring I put out extra grass seed. So I can see it easier.”

I released my feet and jolted back into position, gently swaying side to side until I came to a halt. I stared out at the water. “Feels like I’m here with him. Like he hasn’t shown up yet and I can stop it. That’s fucked up, isn’t it.”

“Who am I to judge what’s fucked up.”

He finally joined me on the swing to my right, tall enough that his feet didn’t dangle and he could lean forward to stare out as well.

We stayed like this for a while in silence observing a couple lazy boats out on the river, gentle nighttime breeze pushing the water, one jogger eventually came by without regard to our presence or we to theirs. 

“Surprised you came without a drink.”

“Already had one in the car. I was parked, don’t worry.”

I reached into my coat pocket and came out with a gift for Hank. “You want one?”

He took both joints from between my fingertips, pulled out a lighter, then handed one back for my enjoyment.

“Fucking took long enough for this to become legal. Thank Christ,” he whispered.

I stood up and tapped him on the arm.

“There’s a kiddie castle over there I usually squeeze into. Come on.”

He looked over then eyed me suspiciously. “Think I’m too big for that, Alex.”

“Nah, come on, trust me.”

“Christ, you're a pain in my ass… Alright, I’m coming.”

We managed to squeeze in together just fine. He took up most of the space, hunched up against the back with his feet protruding from the entrance. I crawled in after, pivoted to one side, and flung my own legs over his with knees pressed to his stomach since I couldn’t stretch out completely. He placed one hand on my shins and the other on my knee between inhales because where else was he supposed to toss his limbs in this thing.

“Cozy,” he noted.

“Serves the purpose. Keeps the smoke in pretty okay, too. If you weren’t so fucking big we could close the door.”

“Captain would give me another disciplinary memo if he saw this one.”

“Then we just won’t tell him, will we…Hey, I’m uh, I’m - sorry about last night, Hank. I was probably more drunk than I was willing to admit. That being said, I still meant what I said. But I’m sorry for uh - you know.” I clicked my tongue and pointed a loose finger at his crotch. Before I let him say anything in an awkward or angry reply, I added, “Good to know it still works though. Told you you weren’t old.”

I stared at an inner corner of the castle and smiled so I wouldn’t have to see the mix of revulsion and embarrassment on his face until several moments later. He coughed and I shifted my knees enough so they weren’t pressing against him anymore.

“Sorry,” I said. Sorry for the comment, sorry for the smoke, sorry for the physical contact. Pick one.

“Didn’t come here to talk about that. How about you shut up and we just sit here, okay.”

“Sounds good.”

I hadn’t looked at the time before coming over and I had no idea what time it was now but after I finished the joint, I hunched over to take a look out of the plastic doorway to the rest of the park. I was barely aware of Hank’s “_Woah, whatchu doing?” _ as I stared off aimlessly. I felt a hand against my back, not holding, just placed there to rest.

“You come here often?”

I know what he meant but I laughed anyway and did a horrendous imitation of his deep inflection, still staring off into the grass beyond. “'_Hey baby, you come here often to see where your bro died, get fucked up, and pass out? Wanna make out on the slide? '... _I come as often as I need to, Hank. Guessing you do, too.”

“Don’t ever do that again.”

I leaned back forcing him to move his arm back to my leg, my own arms across my chest. “What, you don’t like the voice? I’ll try again. ‘_Hey, Alex, thanks for cleaning up my fucking house and taking care of my dog and being the best damn bartender in the city limits’. _”

“Hey, I didn’t ask you to do any of that.”

I scoffed. “Maybe not but like I said yesterday you haven’t kicked me out. And what the fuck you doing enjoying a smoke with me in this playhouse if you didn’t like me one way or another. _ And _you fuckin’ kissed me back last night in case your memory is starting to fail you, you old bastard. _ And _if I _ felt _correctly, you were starting to sprout a boner. So, ya know, you’re welcome. For _ all _ of that.”

He grimaced at the memory but didn’t say anything.

I sighed. “I’m sorry. Okay? But I still - I needed last night.”

“You and me both.”

Neither of us moved for a while. I was vaguely aware of Hank’s fingers idly scratching at the fabric of my left leg as he sat with closed eyes.

I had a low buzz going, just enough to simply be a little sleepy. “Hey Hank, I forgot to tell you something but you know, you might not care cause it means spending more time with me.”

Without opening his eyes, he said, “Don’t be an ass, Alex. What.”

“Some uh, some venue popped up in my feed earlier today. Like one of the only live stages left in the city, in some underground bar or club or I dunno. I don’t think it’s… too far from here. Might actually be around the docks. They’re having uh, that band you like. The… _ Black Hooded Death on Horses_. Some fuckin’ name like that. Angry lookin’ guy. I dunno. You know who I’m talking about?”

He looked at me with a gaping mouth, wide enough I could shove my fingers into, before he snapped it shut and then answered, “_Knights of the Black Death_? How the hell can you butcher a band name so bad, Alex. You’ve played them for me in the bar before.”

I grunted. “Sorry, didn’t remember. But yeah, that’s it. I got tickets. It’s in a few weeks. So clear your desk ‘cause I’m taking you. That okay?”

He was about to say something but shut his mouth again, instead patting me on the shin “Thanks.”

“Oh my _ God_, did Hank Anderson actually just say ‘thank you’. It’s like a fuckin’ miracle. I’m gonna call Fowler right now and let him know, maybe he’ll thin out that disciplinary report. I’m gonna get you a fuckin’ Boy Scouts badge for that one.”

He raised an eyebrow. “Yeah, you do that. My back’s gonna give out in here, move it so I can stretch.” He whacked my legs. I managed - with absolutely no grace - to pull my legs completely back over so I was crunched tight against the one side of the castle. Hank scooched down so that his lower body was now revealed to the park and he pressed his palms up to the low ceiling to stretch. I think every bone in his body popped in the motion but he made no more gesture to leave entirely. He clasped his hands on his stomach and was angled awkwardly to one side so I had at least a foot or two to myself.

“Don’t get any ideas,” he said.

“Tough shit,” I replied. Ignoring his grumbles, I stretched out as well, able to lay flat and flush against his right side, head cocked up on his shoulder, left leg flung over his right through the tiny doorway. I shoved a hand into one of my pockets and brought out a partially flattened cigarette. I had one more and then a pack in the car, I remembered.

“Where’s your lighter?”

“You’re laying on it.” I unceremoniously fished around in his jeans pocket for the device - “_Jesus Christ, careful down there _!” - lit up, then crossed my arm over my body in offering. He took it as I fished out my other. Same routine then I shoved the lighter back in his pocket. “Do you mind?”

“Nah.”

Hank must have finally resigned himself to his horrible situation. He loosened his right arm from between us and flung it around behind my head. I shifted to better rest myself in the crux of his armpit and stared up at the cobweb that had formed during the time of our little meditative session. I curled over after several minutes to my left side, switching which leg was over his, and pushed up to fling my right arm over his torso.

“You really feel the need to keep moving?”

“Why. Does it _ bother _ you?” I asked with rolled eyes. I breathed out the smoke away from him and flicked the ash against the other wall, tossing the butt into a corner to fizzle out. Hank was done with his and I plucked it out of his mouth to stab on the ceiling and tossed somewhere as well. I pushed up again as best I could in the tight space, flung my leg over, and looked down at him squarely with hands to either side of his head. 

I could tell he was forcing his eyes upwards instead of down my loose blouse. “Fuckin’ squishing me. Gonna piss me off in about two seconds if you don’t move.”

“Alright, Hank. What the hell is your problem with me? Hm? You been making your rounds of the bars for almost two years, including where I work; I been driving you home on and off for the past year cause I swear to God, I must be the only person left in this shit hole that doesn’t want to get in trouble for a cop dying from alcohol poisoning. My coworkers are just fine in letting people trudge off, cause _no one _gives a flying fuck anymore. Someone died? Replace em with an android. Excuse-fuckin’-me for thinking we were friends.” I lowered my voice a note as I continued, looking at a spot past his head to gather my thoughts. “Look, I know I can be a little forward, all right. But life’s too short to putz around. You just want me to be the chick who holds your hair back when you puke then I can be the chick who holds your hair back when you puke. It’s been a long couple nights with you that I have really needed and I really enjoyed and….” I had lost my confidence with the last few sentences and rolled off him to my back.

In another moment, I was crawling out of the castle completely to stand out in the fresh air and stretch properly. I heard him grunt behind me in a difficult effort to leave the cramped space but my eyes had already unconsciously focused on that patch of grass beyond the swing set and I didn’t even realize he was speaking to me until he blocked my view and bent down just enough to meet my eyes.

“You okay? You spaced out there.”

I snapped myself back with a sharp inhale. “Yeah. I’m sorry. Getting depressed in a depressing location isn’t what I’d call a good night. But…I’m glad you were here. I’m sorry if I - fucked up your night, Hank. Really.” I considered saying something else but instead brushed past him to head to my car, careful to steer clear of the grass.

I couldn’t even form a coherent thought. I was tired, more flustered now than when I had left the house, remotely confused and confusingly horny, thankful that Hank was here to get my mind off my brother and my disturbing ritual, but angry that I couldn’t just sit with my brother’s ghost in the grass in peace. This must have been the first night I let myself get so distracted. It was royally and inordinately fucked up.

I slid in behind the steering wheel, blank gaze numb to any external stimulation, laid my head against my forearms on the wheel, and cried.

My door clicked open, startling me from my dark thoughts. “Holy crap, Hank,” I croaked, wiping my hands over my eyes. 

He grabbed my upper arm and tugged. “Come on. Not gonna let both of us go home fucked up. You been helping me too much these days. Least I can do.”

I relinquished my grip on the wheel and pushed out another deep sigh. He slammed the door behind me, wrapped two arms around my back, and held tight. I was startled at first then began to ease and I held to his back and burrowed my face into his coat.

“It’s okay,” he said. Whether he was saying it to himself or to me or to the memories that hung in this park, I don’t know. Truthfully, none of it was _okay_. How could it be. Hank came here to relive lost memories with his dead son, I came to watch my brother’s body be covered in tarp and hauled into an ambulance year after year. It was _so. messed. up_.

I clutched to Hank’s back, squeezing my eyes shut, trying so hard to just concentrate on the feel of the man. He let me be for a few minutes, perhaps needing this as well, before he pulled back and released me completely, shoving his hands in pockets and stepped aside. “Are you, uh, you okay to get home?”

“Yeah, I’ll be fine. Don’t um… don’t stay out too long, Hank. This place isn’t...it’s not good for us.”

He waited for me to get back in the car and turn on the ignition before he asked, “You’re still taking me to that concert, right?”

I smiled and waved a couple fingers in goodbye. “You have a good night, Hank.”

* * *

The following Wednesday, one of my coworkers let slip to me that it was Hank's son’s birthday and that if last year was any indication, they weren’t going to see him until after the anniversary of the accident, which was three weeks later.

A debate raged in me then and I let the worried friend win.

When my brother was found dead, the last thing I wanted was sympathy from other friends or family. They could all righteously fuck off. But I also empathized with that happened when you were left alone with your grief for too long.

I peeked into Hank’s windows, the few that were moderately cracked and found nothing suspicious. He wasn’t passed out in the lawn or the driveway, but as I turned back to my own car, I spotted him slouched in his front seat with the window cracked halfway.

I reached in a hand to shake his shoulder. “_Hank_,” I hissed. “Hey.”

He grumbled, asleep. I took my hand back out and then cracked open the door, bending down to eye level. “Hank.”

He grumbled again and blinked awake to glare at me.

“Why the fuck do I see you so often these days, Alex. Go home.”

“I’m not gonna do that, Hank. Just checking on you. I know today’s-”

“Go home, Alex. Not going to tell you again. Don’t need you hanging around.”

“Hank - “

“I said to FUCK OFF, ALEX. Go!”

He turned his attention back to the dashboard as I stepped back with shaky hands on hips.

“Fine,” I said. “Fuck you, too.”

I felt horrific saying that as I went back to my own car, but it was the only language he understood.

* * *

As predicted, we didn’t see him for the following weeks. At some point, my morbid curiosity got the better of me and I dug up the obituary online. October 11th. That was Sunday.

So on Sunday, my stupid stubborn ass dragged me back to his house but it was to no avail. His car wasn’t even in the driveway.

I stopped by a couple other bars in the area to peek my head in. Plenty of languishing older men, none of whom sporting that unique grumbling disdain.

The playground, maybe?

I crunched up through the stones slowly, shutting the headlights as I approached where Hank and I had run into each other last month. I was delicate in each subsequent motion in case he actually was here; I didn’t want to startle him or have him yell at me in the middle of the night in the middle of a park. Didn’t need any more loose pages flying around Fowler’s office with Hank’s name on them.

I spotted a dark form on a far off bench down a side path. Could be one of the thousands of homeless in the city, but no, the disheveled half-fallen over man was just Hank on his stomach, fingers barely scraping the sidewalk. An empty bottle of scotch visible a foot under the bench.

I whispered his name as I approached. Fruitless, I knew. I knelt down before his face and brushed the hair aside to reveal closed eyes and a gaping snoring mouth. I didn’t know what to do; I didn’t feel obligated to do much of anything, as horrible as that sounded to myself. _ He is allowed to grieve_. This was only the second anniversary of his son’s death. It may have already been a decade for me, but I knew what the years felt like and each annual reminder was as raw and disintegrating to the mind as the next. Without laying judgment or encouragement, I understood.

I leaned back against the bench, careful not to touch him, but looped a couple fingers through his hand dangling down.

I sat, again cautious not to make any movements more than necessary. I stayed awake for as long as could, just to make sure he didn’t fuck himself up in his sleep or choke on his puke.

...

The sun startled me coming over the river and I was flat on my back on the concrete. I looked up to see Hank sitting up straight at the other end of the bench, leaning back with one foot over the other knee. I pushed up to my elbows and he peered down at me.

“Thought I told you to fuck off, Alex.”

“And I say, _ tough shit_, Hank.” I managed to push myself up, my back aching, and brushed off my pants from the debris and leaves. I walked over a couple feet into the grass before turning back to look at him, that default sourpuss contempt greeting me a bad morning.

“You’re welcome,” I said.

“How’d you know I’d be here?”

“I just figured.”

“When’d you get here? You were ass up when I came to.”

“I dunno, quarter after twelve maybe. I don’t remember…. Hey, you uh...I’ll see you, Hank.”

“Yeah.”

I barely made it ten feet before he spoke up again. “Al.”

I stopped to look back. “What.”

He shook his head before nodding a goodbye. He was still sitting when I pulled away.


	4. Uninvited

Apparently he had made his stop at the bar three times over the next couple weeks although I was only on shift for one. A nondescript late night in which I dropped him off home but didn’t dare invite myself in although he lingered in the car for a few more extra moments than usual.  
  
“Hey, uh, I’ve never actually thanked you, have I. For as long as you’ve been doing this for me.”  
  
I shook my head and chuckled. “In your own kinda way. But it’s okay, don’t worry about it. I’m just doing my job.”  
  
“Hm. Job as an employee or job as a friend?”  
  
“Both, I guess.”  
  
He grunted again and started to get out of the car when he paused and looked over at me. “You gonna come inside and clean up or what?”  
  
I spoke half to him, half to the center-console in my car, not quite able to meet his eyes fully. “Hank, you know exactly what’s going to happen if I come inside. I’ll probably try to kiss you again and you’ll tell me to fuck off. And you’ll insist that I’m some weird young girl...”  
  
He didn’t reply at once, instead stepping out of the car completely and then bent down to talk. “I need to take a shower. Park the car and don’t fuckin’ spy on me.” He slammed the door shut and I watched him walk up the few yards. I sat for a few minutes in comfortable blanketing silence, watching a couple raccoons chase each other down the street. Spilled garbage slowly leaked into the sewer taking the day’s lavish love of consumerism with it. I had no idea what was going through this man’s mind and I don’t know if I would ever pull an answer from him, but right now, I wasn’t about to refuse the company.  
  
I entered the dark house which was illuminated only by the light in the kitchen and the faint glow of the television. I took off my jacket and shoes, tossing my keys aside on the bookshelf, and softly padded across the hardwood floor. I heard the water running in the bathroom and maybe if I had all those beers from the other night still in my system I would have dared to see what was beyond the ajar door. Sumo came to greet me from the hallway and I knelt down to sit with him for several minutes. I treated myself to water from the tap, putting a few used dishes in the machine, and then curled up on his sofa in wait.  
  
Except that this turned into a _very_ long shower. Sometimes men jerk off while wasting water, but that would be a little weird now, wouldn’t it. “_Ah shit_.” I scrambled up from the sofa and slid across the flooring. I peered through the crack, hearing only the water but no noise.

“Hank? Are you okay?”

No response.

“Hey. You all right??” I said louder.

Quiet.

“Fucking hell,” I said. I breathed in deep, praying he wasn’t having a very quiet distracted wank, and pushed open the door. His things were discarded on the tile and there was definitely no voice and no movement. I tried one more time, just in case. Last thing I needed now was for him to get pissed off that I had walked in on something. “Hank?”

Nope.

“All right. Shit. Don’t get mad at me,” I said, pulling the curtain aside.

The man was seated in the tub under the spraying water - which I quickly turned off - which means he hadn’t passed out while standing. Thank God, because I had no idea what to do about concussions or shit like that. His legs were bent up and splayed to the sides. He was going to be so mad. I quickly rushed to find a couple clean towels in his hampers and tossed them unceremoniously on the man, then knelt down to rearrange and press them firmly to dry him off. One for his chest and arms, one for… his legs. I grabbed one more for his hair, vigorously drying that down so he wouldn’t catch cold. That seemed to wake him up.

“What the - holy fuck, Alex, what the hell?” he yelled.

I knelt back with the towel still in hand and cocked a worried smile. “You - uh, I think you passed out. I was in the living room but you weren’t coming out, so...”

It took him another couple moments of realization to come to terms with the situation. His eyes flared and I could tell he was about to yell but managed to stop himself at the last second.

“You should go wait. Out there.”

“Yeah, yeah of course,” I said standing. As I turned, I noticed the couple prescription bottles on his sink. I paused for a moment as I heard him stand. “Hank,” I said turning back. He was wrapping one towel around his waist and tossed the other to the floor.

“Thought I told you to go.”

“You did. Are you still taking these?” I rattled the bottle to get his attention.

“Ah. Yeah, that’s probably what did it.” He stepped out of the tub and came over to grab the blowdryer from the mounted shelf. “You getting out of here or what?”

I sighed and put the pills back down, heading back to the living room. I had half a mind to just _leave_ and go home and give up for the night. I have no idea why I stayed. Stupidity, perhaps. My own loneliness. Some fucked up commonality, a little bit of jealousy that he was so blatantly unafraid to mix drugs and see which end would be up in the morning.

I treated myself to his whiskey - an almost-empty bottle of Jameson - and curled up on the sofa to wait for Hank to emerge, nursing at it like a tit.

I heard the fridge door open and I offered up his own stash with a wave of my arm, the liquid sloshing like a dinner bell at Cracker Barrel. Hank came over and snatched it from my grasp, going behind the sofa to his chair.

"Fuck's sake, Hank…"

"What."

"That." I nodded at his lazy clothing choice: slippers, dark green boxers, and a loosely belted blue robe that framed the tattoo. I noted another one peeking out from under the shorts on his left thigh.

“What.”  
  
“It’s like you do these things on purpose.”  
  
I took a deep breath and stared up at the ceiling, crossing my ankles up on the coffee table. I splayed my arms behind me in a stretch before pushing out another sigh and forced myself to look at the man downing a couple full swallows of the whiskey.  
  
He paused and asked, “You’re not seriously turned on by this.”  
  
It’s like he completely forgot about his semi the other night. What the fuck was Hank playing at with me?  
  
I raised my eyebrows and gestured with an upward jutting palm to indicate, _Yeah, you dumb fart_.  
  
He peered at me through half-lidded eyes before shaking his head and giving his attention back to the bottle.  
  
"You going to give that back or what? Barely got a chance," I said.  
  
"Shit's mine, Al. You can pry it from my cold fucking dead fingers when I'm done."  
  
"Gonna pry it from you right now if you don't know what's good for you."  
  
He peered at me, wondering whether or not to accept that dare.  
  
He didn't know what was good for him.  
  
I dropped my feet from the table, pushed off the sofa, and perched myself up on the arm of the chair. He held the bottle up high in his right arm away from me.  
  
"Fuck off! Get your own," he said, staring at the TV.  
  
The infomercials had started.  
  
_Bling for your android! Only $39 + S&H. Call now!_  
  
"Christ…" I whispered. I plunged back into his lap from the arm, maybe a little too forcefully falling where I should(n't) have, and reached back to grab his wrist, vainly trying to yank down his arm.  
  
“Hey!” He stared down at our arrangements, which were much to his consternation. He dropped his arm to loll over the side and rested the other one on my knees.  
  
He looked down at me, "The hell are you doing. Gonna make me puke you're so fucking heavy on my gut."  
  
"This is what you get, you jackass." I shifted just enough against him to awkwardly splay my legs over the side of the chair, head resting over the other, and my arms draped over his leg.  
  
"Here," he said. "If it'll make you get off me." He shoved the bottle over my side which I grabbed and finished off in a sputtering warm coughing fit. I set it down on the floor to roll away in a low clatter, thoroughly enjoying the quick and coursing sensation down my throat.  
  
"You done now?" he asked.  
  
I rolled back, eliciting another pained grunt from the man so I could look up at him properly and poke a finger into his chin.  
  
"You scared me, Hank. I don't appreciate that."  
  
He pulled my hand away to drop back in my lap.   
  
"Don't really give a shit what you appreciate."  
  
"Maybe just take the pills in the morning," I said.  
  
"You my doctor now?"  
  
"No, but it would be nice to know you won't pass out on top of me."  
  
"The fuck would I -"  
  
The realization took several moments to dawn. He grumbled something indistinguishable, quite the feat considering his face was inches above my head. As awkward as the position was, I didn't really want to move. That was short-lived as he suddenly pushed me off his lap and I rolled to the floor in a heap. He stepped over and headed off back down the hallway. I pushed myself up following only partway to use the bathroom.  
  
He had disappeared into the bedroom across the hall, bent over in a chair between the window and the bed. I noted his gun out on a side table, clothes strewn haphazardly around the furniture, and another half bottle of something under the lit lamp next to him. As I stood in the doorway, head already beginning to swim, I realized something.  
  
"Hank." His head snapped up to look at me, cigarette hanging from his open mouth. "What am I doing here."  
  
"Whatdyou mean."  
  
"Nothing…" I think my theory from earlier was correct. He wanted the company and the distraction but either he had no idea how to express his wishes or would realize too late what the outcome of his actions would be and just roll with it.  
  
Guessing that was one of the reasons his captain had to keep writing him up.  
  
I strode over and plopped down on his messy bedspread to stretch out close to the edge near him. I held out a couple fingers in a pinching motion to indicate he should share.

Instead, he tugged open the drawer in a rattle revealing another bottle of pills, another gun and a case of ammo, assorted _crap_, one half-full carton of cigarettes, and a few loose rolling papers. I grabbed a smoke after much fiddling and scooted down further on the bed to roll onto my stomach, propping myself up on my elbows. Hank's eyes wandered not so discreetly for a second before he relaxed further into his chair.  
  
"What do you usually do after I dump you off?"   
  
My question seemed to startle him from whatever absent thoughts swirled behind his eyes.  
  
"This. Why do you care so much?"  
  
"_Why do I care_? Because I just fucking _do_, Hank. Is that really so tough for you to believe? Maybe I am a _weirdo_ for wanting to spend time with an old alcoholic cop. Like I've said, get over yourself."  
  
"You do think I'm old."  
  
"Oh come on, it was a jab. How old are you?"  
  
"52 last month."  
  
"Hold on," I said, pushing up to my right side. "You had a birthday and didn't say anything."  
  
"Not one to celebrate...so how do I stack up to the other ones you were into. Said you've dated older men before."  
  
I snorted. "What, you jealous?" I rolled to my back and half propped up against the headboard. "Okay… uh, one was a grandfather at 40. That was a _while_ ago. The guy with the android in the shed was um... I dunno, 48 maybe. Few years ago was… fifty….five?"  
  
"Oof. God, what the hell is wrong with you."  
  
I laughed again through my nose. "I told you. Guys my age are obsessed with these androids, you can't satisfy them. You know, I think you and folks 10, 20 years older than me, you know what it was like to live without those things. It's tough to compete when the android's got a better body and doesn't argue."  
  
"Hm. No fucking human connection anymore."  
  
"Yeah…" I stared up at the ceiling, deciding if I should keep stealing from his refrigerator or chain smoke. My current had burned out and I laid it over in his ashtray.  
  
He decided for me when he stood and demanded I move over, tossing a pack of cigarettes on my chest. "Move your ass." I held it to myself and rolled over to the left, taking the lighter when he offered as he creaked in beside me. He grabbed the half bottle from his nightstand to join us as well.  
  
We stayed like this for a while, stretched out flush beside each other (he wasn’t too happy about the contact, but _tough fucking shit, Hank Anderson_) sipping away at the scotch between us and chaining a couple packs until his room reeked like my grandmother's ass after Jazzercise.  
  
I took a short break in the middle of our binge to take a bathroom break and walk Sumo down the block while Hank peed. I wondered if the two of them ever went together. Probably. Guys had it easy.  
  
Much to Hank's chagrin - _but honestly what the hell did he expect at this point_ \- I flopped an arm over and mindlessly and drunkenly ran my fingers along the inside of his robe, knuckles brushing against his chest.  
  
"When'd you get that?" The ink.  
  
"After graduation. Thought I was tough shit."  
  
"You _are_ tough shit. I like it."  
  
_Grunt_.  
  
"Shouldn't put yourself down, Hank."  
  
"You're my therapist now, too? Position's already filled."  
  
I had plenty of comebacks to that one but each would probably end with a bullet in my brain.  
  
Instead, I ungracefully rolled into him and flung a leg over, snaking a hand over his chest under the fabric, and rested my head along his shoulder, breathing in the booze and smoke from the night.  
  
“You’re doing this again?”  
  
I muttered into his robe. “No fucking shit, Hank. I don’t see you tossing me out the window. It’s right there. Stop asking me questions and go fuck yourself.”  
  
After some contemplative moments, he finally rested his free hand along my back, his other still occupied with a smoke and his tumbler.  
  
Eventually, I was getting antsy; I brushed my fingers over an old (what I assumed to be) bullet wound near the front of his right ribcage, then a few inches closer to me was the beginning of a scar, the remainder hidden under his robe.  
  
“You can stop there,” he said, grabbing my hand to drop back over his right side.  
  
I didn’t even realize I was kicking my legs back and forth until he said something. “Can you stop that, Jesus, why do you move so much?”  
  
“Are you kidding me? You must have _the_ most boring sex if you think I move a lot. Or I dunno, maybe you’re used to girls just lying there.” I pushed up to cross my arms over his chest and laughed into my elbow.  
  
He pushed out a sigh and finished his current glass.  
  
“I think it’s time for you to go to sleep. Move.”  
  
“Mmmm, nope, I’m good, thanks though.” I slithered off of him and rolled to my other side, sprawling over the edge of the bed. “You always deflect, Hank.”  
  
“What’re you saying?”  
  
“You deflect. I say something that makes you uncomfortable, you deflect.”  
  
“Not going to talk to you like this,” he muttered. “I’ll be with Sumo.”  
  
My morning self would realize that was the smart decision. My drunk nighttime self, kind of a pain in the ass.   
  
“You’re doing it again, Hank.” I felt him get up and pad around the bed toward the door. “You don’t have to leave your own bed.”  
  
From the hallway, he replied, “Yes, I do.”

* * *

At some point which felt like hours later in the middle of the night, I got up to use the bathroom in the dark, washing down my face in the sink, sobering up ever slowly. I had forgotten I had taken my pants off to get more comfortable in his bed and hoped that Hank wouldn’t catch me as I stumbled into the kitchen.  
  
I heard him snoring from the sofa and went over to peak down at him from over the back cushions. The robe was flung open, one leg up on the armrest, the other sprawled out at an angle to the floor, horrific noises emanated from his mouth but Sumo was none the wiser from his corner by the computer; I think he was snoring a bit as well. I reached over to brush a few strands from Hank’s face; he grumbled with the touch but didn’t wake.  
  
I got myself a full glass of water and found a stray bottle of Tylenol on the kitchen counter, settling against the room divider to spy on Hank’s shadowed form in the dark, barely illuminated by the street lamps around the neighborhood. After a few moments, I crossed over the room and settled into the chair, curling my legs up beneath me, only a faint chill shuddering through my limbs. Cold, alcohol, nervousness, some diluted mixture of the above combined with the oddest sense of _peace_ considering our fucked up circumstances.  
  
I hadn’t had a night like this before him in ages. Back when I was dating, sure. By myself, rarely, except for the pot at the playground. That was a staple.  
  
I was just about to get up when I heard him utter my name in a grumble. “What you doing?”  
  
“Just checking on you,” I said. I tightened my legs under myself. “You should go back to your bed. I can sleep out here.” I was horribly self-conscious that he was still looking at me. I had shed my bra as well but that’s not what I was worried about. As quickly as I could, I launched myself from his chair and started back to his bedroom. In an equally fast motion, he was after me and grabbed my arm to stop me in the hallway.  
  
“Is there something you want to tell me?”  
  
“No.” I lurched my arm back and continued into his bedroom.  
  
“Alex.” He was firm, demanding that I turn back to face him. I obeyed, knowing I wouldn’t get out of this one. He flicked on the light switch in the bedroom, partially blinding us for a few moments before our eyes adjusted from the pitch darkness of the night.  
  
“Fuck you do to yourself.” He was standing in the doorway, giving me a once over but focusing on my lower body.  
  
“They’re old, Hank. Very old,” I sighed. “It’s okay, it’s over… Can you shut the light back off, please?”  
  
He did so after a pause then trudged back off down the hallway, leaving me flustered. I hadn’t really planned on him finding out like that but it was my own damn fault for wandering around the house.  
  
As I was getting back into his bed, I heard him return; he leaned against the doorway with crossed arms to look over at me.  
  
“What?” I asked.  
  
“How old?”  
  
I sighed before responding. “14 to 18. I was 14 to 18 years old. Better for a while and then uh, started up again for about a year after my brother died.. I haven’t since then. Don’t feel the need to. Figured out other ways to manage.”  
  
The smoking, the drinks.  
  
“The older men.”  
  
“Don’t chide me, Hank. You make me sound like a serial dater. It was just the ones I told you about. Just three. Actually, I think you should be honored.”  
  
“Why’s that.”  
  
_Cause I actually like you_.  
  
I shrugged instead. “Don’t ask me anymore about the scars and I’ll get off your ass about your bad habits. But I…” I trailed off, running my hands up and down the bumps on my thighs before covering my lower half with his sheets and duvet.  
  
“What?”  
  
“I’d really like it if you took your bed back.”  
  
“You mean you want to share.”  
  
“Good deduction, Lieutenant. Knew you were in the force for a reason.”  
  
I hesitated again in empty thought before scooting myself back down on my side to face away from the door. Part of my mind was still rattling against my eyes from the night several weeks ago when he had started to kiss me back before his own body interrupted and he disappeared in embarrassment. Embarrassment, shame, fear; I wasn’t quite sure.  
  
I squeezed my eyes shut against his pillow, breathing in the cacophony of various alcohols and smokes and body odor. After a while, five, ten minutes, it all blurred together by now, I felt Hank maneuver to sprawl out beside me. I grabbed his arm to wrap over me and curled into his side. He didn't reject me this time and I quickly fell back asleep.


	5. Don't Be So Serious

The bright sun through his shades woke me up; Hank was on his stomach, limbs in every direction, and I was buried in his back. I withdrew slightly to look down the bed. _How the hell do you go to sleep with two socks but only wake up with one_? Like some fucking domestic magic trick. I thought socks only disappeared in the washer. The robe had disappeared as well but I couldn’t remember if that was before or after he grew the balls to share his bed with me.  
  
I rolled off the bed into a careless heap, groaning in exhaustion on my way to the bathroom. Hanging my head between my knees on the toilet, I stared at the showerhead.

“_Fancy shit_.” It was wider than mine. Probably felt great.

Ten minutes into standing under the hot water, having not touched any of his products and pleasantly spaced out in an effort to wake up, I heard the door thump open.  
  
I didn’t even have the energy to respond. Not even hungover, just so fucking _tired_.  
  
Clank of the toilet lid.  
  
Hank peeing.  
  
Flush.  
  
“Fuck are you doing,” he grumbled. “Get out of there.”  
  
Flatly, I said, “You’re welcome to join.”  
  
Clank of the toilet lid again.  
  
Thump.  
  
I shut off the water.  
  
“You mind getting me a fucking towel, Hank. I have no more shame but you might get pissed off again. Don’t want that, do we.”  
  
Footfalls on tile.  
  
Creak of his cabinet.  
  
He jabbed a towel at me through the crack between the curtain and the wall which I used to dry off my hair and wrap around tightly.  
  
“What are you still doing here?” I asked as I stepped out.  
  
“Want to use it. Had to wait for you. Freaking using up all my water.”  
  
“Tough shit, Hank. Join me next time,” I said. I grabbed my pile of clothes from the floor to dress in the living room and tossed the towel back on his bed.  
  
While Hank was still in the shower, I took Sumo out.  
  
Returning, Hank was bent over a cup of coffee and had set one out for me as well.  
  
“Thanks,” I said, pulling out a chair. I tucked my legs up with me and stared off around the room. _Should clean again soon_.  
  
“Hey. You didn’t touch me last night did you?”  
  
“If you’re asking if we had sex, Hank, yes, it was fucking hot and you came five times in my ass. Sumo even watched. Would do again.”  
  
He reared back in the slow motions of a man not sure if he had to sneeze or vomit violently.  
  
“The _fuck_ is wrong with you, Alex.”  
  
I shrugged and laughed into my coffee. “A. Lot.”  
  
“Sumo? How dare you.”  
  
I started to snort then at the imagery. Sumo would be quite the cockblocker.  
  
I looked back over at Hank. His face softened back up but he was still staring at me over the rim of his mug.  
  
On a serious note, I had to remind him: “Hey, your concert’s tonight. Do you wanna drive?”  
  
“Sick of hauling my ass around?”  
  
“Would be a nice change for once.”  
  
“You don’t have work?”  
  
“Going in early to clean and do inventory and shit. Managed to swap shifts. You’re more than welcome to come by and have one before we leave.”  
  
“Wednesday happy hour at Harry’s. I’ll get you after.”  
  
“You sure? Don’t forget.”  
  
“You know it’s been a while since I saw anyone play. All these fuckin’ virtual reality gigs now. You don’t go deaf like that. People are missing out.”  
  
“Yeah. I don’t get it.”  
  
I downed the rest of my coffee and then stood giving myself a full-body stretch before I went to the front door to grab my coat.  
  
“Fowler got you on anything today?”  
  
“Too much paperwork. I’ll see when I get there.  
  
With my hand on the doorknob, he added, “Thanks.”  
  
“For what? Not letting you drown naked in the shower?”  
  
He scoffed into this own coffee and nodded. “Yeah. I guess so. See you later, Alex.”  
  
I nodded a goodbye and headed off to take care of things at home and then to my own work.

* * *

  
"Woah woah woah, you’re going on a _date_ with Anderson?”  
  
I rolled my eyes at my manager. “Not a date! Just going to hang out and have fun. I think he just needs to get out.”  
  
“Uh-huh,” she said. “I think he needs to get off. He’s always here alone, we never see him with a woman. Never tries to pick anyone up. Same over at uh, what’s his other one, Jimmy’s? I ran into him there once a while ago. Bunch of old single guys. So either his dick doesn’t work anymore or he’s got a bone for you. What’s that old phrase our folks would use? Netflix and Chill? What is this, Death Metal and Fuck? Pretty much go together anyway. Alex, you’ve been driving this man home for how long now whenever he comes here? Hey, whatever gets you off, hun. Lord knows I’ve thought about it.”

* * *

  
I met him outside shortly after eight. I heard him before I saw him, pacing across the street. He was on the phone with someone from the department, evident by his brash tone and several grammatical varieties of ‘_fuck_’.  
  
I crossed over and let myself into his car. His dash was decorated with various stickers and a large mounted tablet, which I could safely assume was for maps and work. Small police lights were mounted against the glass.  
  
He yanked the door open and slammed it shut, slightly rattling the car as he turned on the ignition. The radio must have been on previously as well because it spun a….. jazz CD.  
  
Heavy metal and jazz, so far. Very polar opposite. I would not have guessed.  
  
He pushed it off and switched to the radio as he started driving.  
  
“Hi to you, too, Hank. The hell was that about?”  
  
“Eh, got another write-up. Where are we going again?”  
  
“The docks, I’ll look it up when we’re a little closer.”  
  
He was occupied with his thoughts and I let him be as I found the address to this place and found the tickets in my email. Apparently they had converted a ton of old shipping containers into a sort of amphitheater.  
  
We spotted some cars and pulled into a wide side lot. I stepped out first then turned back to realize he hadn’t immediately followed. I tapped on the glass which he rolled down.  
  
“Gimmie a minute. Fuckin’ headache just came on.”  
  
I leaned in over the window with crossed arms. “Grab my bag, there’s a few painkillers in there.”  
  
He did so and stole my bottled water as well in a deep chug before getting out of the car so we could make our way over to the mock venue.  
  
His sourness fizzled out as we meandered through the crowd grabbing a couple beers and a platter of nachos to split on the concrete against the metal grating. He got up at one point without saying anything to talk to a couple guys he must have recognized, giving each of them a slap on the back when they were done. _Personal or business_, I wondered.  
  
I didn't ask upon his return but he seemed pleased with whatever arrangements he just made.  
  
“So uh, do you have to play cop tonight?”  
  
“Off-duty means I don’t give a shit. As long as no one’s getting hurt, I’m not stepping in.”  
  
Over the course of the night, there must have been four pairs of boobs flashing overhead, two fights (quickly sedated by security, to Hank’s satisfaction), three beers apiece, and a quick rain shower that only intensified the crowd.  
  
We stood together for most of the show before he saw another couple guys he recognized, ditching me mid-song before returning a couple tracks later with a head nod. That had given me time to buy two more beers and I handed one over.  
  
“Thanks.”  
  
I must have looked at him a moment too long because he furrowed his brow at me while taking a deep chug from his current bottle.  
  
I returned with my own false-innocent expression of _Nothing_!  
  
We enjoyed the remainder of the night without speaking, Hank’s head nods less reserved with each track. It was nice to see him loosen up, just for a little while.

* * *

Whatever lift in his attitude he just experienced from the night faded back into the clouds overhead, bringing a sudden downpour to the streets and Hank's mood.  
  
Had he forgotten I was in the car as he jolted up into his driveway or was this going to be like nights before, somehow shocked with wide eyes that *gasp* there was a female in his house!  
  
Without words or further questions, I chased after him inside, discarding my wet outerwear and shoes against the front door. Hank clicked on the air and immediately went to the kitchen to pour a glass.  
  
"You want anything?" His first words to me after the concert.  
  
"Not tonight, Hank. I think I'll just let my things dry for a bit and head home."  
  
With a slight shrug and tip of his drink, he said, "Suit yourself."  
  
I cut him off on the way to the sofa with a firm hand to his chest and a tight grip to the wrist that held the tumbler.  
  
"Fuck, this again?"  
  
I tossed my hands up and he brushed past me to take his chair, again leaving me with a few choices. And again, I took the stupid daring one and immediately planted myself in a loose straddle with hands tightly gripping the back of his head, hair still slightly damp from the rain. I didn't even allow him to argue, any utterances cut off by a deep kiss. The sudden pressure pushed the wind out of him, arms startled to either side. When I finally released, trailing my hands around his face and down to stop at his chest, he was quiet. I treated myself to his mouth again, slower and steadier than the first. He was holding back, reserved and hesitant to respond but he wasn't pushing away either, his lips ever slowly twitching in reply. I released again and brushed the hair behind his ears.  
  
He interrupted to take a sip of his drink before asking me to leave.  
  
I sighed and crawled off but stood before him firmly. He wouldn't look at me, his fingers picking at the upholstery.  
  
"I don't get you. Hank."  
  
“Feeling’s mutual.”  
  
I grabbed my things, well aware they had barely started to dry and left without a second look. I was halfway down the block when I heard his sloshing behind me, a light jog to catch up.  
  
“Hey hey hey, hold up.”  
  
I slowed my pace in the rain but didn’t stop completely. He caught up and grabbed my arm in a rough grip, urging me to turn around.  
  
“What is it, Hank?” I was tired, exasperated, and tugged my arm away for him to let me go.  
  
“I, uh - let me drive you home, getting soaked out here.”  
  
“I’ll be fine,” I said, starting to walk again.  
  
“Woah, okay, stop for a second.”  
  
I let out an exaggerated sigh with my face up to the rain as I turned back.  
  
"What do you want?" he asked.  
  
"You're fucking kidding me. What I _want_ is for you to stop changing your mind every time you get a little riled up with me. I _want_ to finish what I start. We had a good night, but you're pissing me off, Hank."  
  
I could tell he wanted to say something but nothing fell other than, "I'm going home."  
  
As he turned away, words I didn’t even know I was holding spilled like Hank’s puke at 2 am.  
  
“God, Hank, you know what, stop. Listen to me, you need to either stop kicking me out or stop allowing me to come inside in the first place. Cause I can’t do both anymore with you. I just can’t. And I wish I could, trust me. So pick one. I will see you when I see you, all right? Get some sleep.”  
  
I turned away without waiting for a reply. He didn’t follow.

* * *

The next week or so after that night was quiet. I don’t know if he was occupying the other bars around town or was late to stay at work, early drinking at home. I didn’t ask anyone else and no one offered the information. I had already reluctantly admitted to myself I was attracted to the man, however unhealthy it was. It wasn’t a desire to help or assist or heal his grief; it wasn’t my place to do so, but he could fuck himself if I wasn’t allowed to _care_ and spend time with him. Try to help with the easy things so he wasn’t drowning in three-week-old garbage and glass. My actions over the past year came from platonic concern and for some reason, I felt uniquely equipped to do so, perhaps our first-hand experiences with death, I didn’t know.  
  
But I was more angry now than flustered as I had been before; I had no idea why he kept asking me to leave after the last visits to his house, his _bed_, that night in the playground. He obviously didn’t have _too_ much of an issue with the physicality of it, it just seemed that he had a limited threshold before becoming annoyed. With himself? With me? What exactly was stopping him? Something was rattling around in Hank Anderson’s brain and I needed to figure out what it was.  
  
It was about a half-hour until close when he finally did appear, another very late Friday night and took a booth along the side. I poured his usual, set it before him, and turned back to the counter to finish cleaning up. I had planned to head out first anyway; I wasn’t needed to linger and frankly, I also needed a break from Hank.  
  
He got up at some point during this, maybe in a motion to say something but instead examined the pile of stickers we were selling and slipped one into his pocket in exchange for a dollar before taking his seat again.  
  
_If You're Not A Bartender Then Go Away_.  
  
I had to hide back a small smile at the gesture.  
  
I was halfway to my car before he caught up to me. “You ignoring me now?”  
  
I halted in the middle of the street; there was no traffic but even if someone came by and swiped us away, so be it.  
  
“I’m not ignoring you. I just needed time to think.”  
  
“Ah. You gonna share or what.”  
  
I scoffed and started to turn back to my car. “I don’t think you want to hear what I have to say.”  
  
I unlocked and he invited himself in.  
  
“What’re you doing?” I sighed.  
  
“Let’s go. You got something to say just spit it out."  
  
"Oh, _now_ you're ready to listen to me?"  
  
"Just fuckin drive, Al."  
  
I shook my head but obeyed the one part of his request to drive him home. I parked on the curb and then turned to look at him squarely.  
  
“Okay, I want to know what the hell your problem is. And don’t fuckin’ get snarky with me. Cause I - for some godforsaken reason - I _really_ like you, Hank. If I just wanted to have someone to make out with, I think I could find a fuck buddy pretty easily these days, _as_ you’ve pointed out to me before. I like this routine I’ve got with you and yeah, I'm looking to get a bit more outta it now. All right? Every fucking time I look at you, it takes everything in my power to not fuck your brains out. Thing is…” I was swallowing my words, slowly devolving into this puddle of the young girl that Hank claimed me to be. And I _hated_ it. “It’s more than that. I don’t - I don’t know _what_ exactly. I don’t know. And it’s such _bullshit_ 'cause I can’t get a read on you.”  
  
I turned back to the steering wheel, running my hands along the lower rubber in distraction. There was nothing I hated more than _talking_ about relationships and shit but Hank was one who needed to hear these things, trapped as he was in his head.  
  
He sat in silence for a solid couple minutes, musing on my confession with crossed arms, staring out at nothing in particular through the windshield.  
  
“Fine,” he finally said. He didn’t look at me with the next few words. “You scare me, okay? You do this shit and I - I don’t know - I don’t - you’ll just disappoint yourself.”  
  
Was he trying to force a confession or about to have a stroke?  
  
“Oh go fuck yourself, Hank. I scare you? That is the stupidest bullshit that’s come out of your muzzle since we met. Look, I think I’ve gotten to know you pretty well. The crap you do at work, what you see out on the streets, your disgust with the world around us right now, fuckin’ machines doing everyone’s jobs… It’s overwhelming and it’s exhausting but I never get tired of talking to you about that stuff when you're at the bar. So can you at least do me the fucking courtesy of admitting to yourself that spending time with me isn't _complete_ hell for you? I’m not disappointed. So don’t fuckin try to push me away and stop making excuses. Either invite me in and let me stay or get the hell out of my car so I can go home.”  
  
He hadn't looked at me during my speech, again tightening the arms across his chest and shaking his head to himself. I sighed and leaned against my window, attention drawn to the clutter at the end of the block that must have been swept away in that rain.  
  
“I’m sorry, I just -”  
  
“Get out,” he said.  
  
“What?”  
  
“Not gonna fuckin’ repeat myself,” he said. He got out of the car and slammed the door a little too hard, walking a couple feet before halting and turning to bend down to look at me through the window. A thrown-back thumbs-up gesture indicated I needed to _move_.  
  
I did so, slowly and suspiciously following him into the house, removing my shoes within the entrance. He tossed his things aside and beelined to his scotch out on the counter, not bothering to even pour properly. I followed to lean against the counter at his side and he offered up a drink, but again I refused like the other night, watching his motions and wondering what the _fuck_ he had in store for me.  
  
He was thinking again. For several long moments, thinking or cursing away whatever the hell motivated him to turn and grumble my name.  
  
"What?" I asked, which snapped him from these distracted thoughts.  
  
"Nothing." He went over to the sofa then, clicking on the television to mindless late-night programming. A quiet distraction.  
  
"It's not nothing," I sighed.  
  
I followed and he reached out an arm across the top of the cushions to indicate I should sit. I did so and curled up against him; this time he actually embraced me instead of using me as a place rest.  
  
“Not going to kick you out. Just wanna sit, okay?”  
  
I nodded into his shoulder. “Okay.”  
  
Sumo joined us after a while, this gigantic dog who thought he was the size of a poodle came to interrupt and sprawled himself to pin me firmly into the sofa and Hank’s side.  
  
We stayed in this quiet and just when I thought I could fall asleep in this numb and awkward position, Hank asked me a question.  
  
“Al. Tell me the truth. One of those scars was fresh.”  
  
I closed my eyes and shook my head. I couldn’t lie to him. “Yeah.”  
  
“Hm. Wish you wouldn't do that shit to yourself."  
  
“You saying you care about me or what.”  
  
Another grunt.  
  
Sumo decided to retreat back to his bed allowing me to stretch and sprawl out on the couch with my head on Hank’s thigh. I grabbed his arm from above me to hold under my chin. He patted me instead. “Come on.”  
  
I pushed away to look at him in confusion.  
  
He nudged at a mug on his side table with a finger as he thought, and then finally spoke, looking everywhere else in his living room except towards me. “Let me make this clear so you’re not asking me any more goddamned questions, Alex. I’m not having sex with you. Okay? I mean, not uh - well not like, you know. But I, uh..._fuck_...nothing.” He pulled away from me and stood, making to head down the hallway.  
  
_‘Not like, you know’, what, Hank, what?_  
  
I drew my hands firmly down my face, surely leaving it red, still having no fucking clue what was going on.  
  
I followed, noting that he had veered into the bathroom and I went to sit at the edge of his bed in the darkness. He emerged, stripped down to his boxers and robe.  
  
_Doesn’t want to have sex and yet_ -  
  
“Didn’t I fucking tell you, Hank?”  
  
“You’ve said a lot of shit I’ve already forgotten,” he said. I grabbed his wrist as he passed the bed. He paused and eyed me again like some stranger who had intruded into his home before pulling away to sit in that chair again. I felt him looking at me.  
  
_Fine. Whatever fucking game this is, Hank, I guess we’re both making up the rules_.  
  
I climbed into his bed, clumsily removing my pants to toss out from under. Next to remove the bra out from under my shirt, still fully aware that he was watching. There was nothing crude or lecherous, he was observing as he would at a scene, putting the pieces together one by one. I pushed myself down completely and curled up in a fetal position away from him, shutting my eyes against my bent arm.  
  
When he finally did position himself as well, first on his back, then his side to pull me against him with a heavy arm across my torso, I grabbed to hold him tight against me. He was firm, warm, secure. But each motion was charged with hesitations, a display of Hank’s internal struggle which I still couldn’t exactly pinpoint, leaving me to wonder again _why_ his behavior was marked with such doubt. Had he not done this since his ex-wife? No brief flings or angry rebounds? The grief and depression so overtaking his clouded mind he probably didn’t even want to _think_ of these things. Possibly not being able to deem himself even _worthy_ of them after losing his family. What he had said prior in the car, he was scared of me. Scared of whatever goddamned _emotions_ that might have started to bubble up again through that clogged and broken heart of his.  
  
It was so easy to get used to who you become with depression and these suicidal tendencies; it’s simply who you _are_ that any other version seems like a fantasy, not real and tangible or even _possible_. You don't know who you are, or could be, without it. You forget your prior identity, for those who had an identity to begin with, others could barely remember a different version of the self. This was all he knew now; I did hope that maybe, one day, he could find his way out of the pain and neither of us would have to visit that park again.  
  
I didn’t want to burden Hank with anything else; he didn’t need to know my history past my brother’s death, and I had no desire to share. It wasn’t important. But at the very least, we could share our collective pains, however unspoken.

**Notes for the Chapter:**

> Chapter title credit: Low Roar, "Don't Be So Serious." _ Once in a Long, Long While..._, 2017.  



	6. Could Always be Worse

We fell asleep that night with no more words or motions or asks. This became a new addition to the routine over the following weeks in November even on nights that I wasn’t driving him home; drink, smoke, sleep, not always in that order and sometimes two but not all three, but always basic. I was careful to stop myself from kissing him too fiercely. I was disappointed in part, but I wasn’t going to push. He'd still ask me what the _ fuck _ I was doing, but it was more a tease than a serious question, albeit lined with lingering apprehension.

With each moment of intimacy during that period, his fingers tightened slightly more against the fabric of my shirt or jeans, lips picked up a rhythm but still hesitant and resistant of a full-on session. No more trips to jerk off in the bathroom, because, as much as I did want to fuck him into that dog-hair riddled arm-chair, he still wasn’t ready and so I’d force myself to stop before it got to that point. I had enough curses from him whenever I’d lean against him or splay a leg over ('_The fuck are you doing’ _ ) that I didn’t want to make him _actually _angry. The curses and hesitancies were just a bit of foreplay. He had accepted I wasn’t going to stop.

On a couple nights when I was off-shift, we'd find a new bar close to the edge of the city. He'd fall inebriated to the sidewalk and I'd heave him against the ashen brick and stained siding while waiting for the taxi. His rebukes of '_Can't do that here, gotta badge_' held no sway once we were in the backseat.

Once, I let myself into his house on a day off and treated myself to his bed. He greeted me with his gun drawn from the bedroom doorway.

"What the _ fuck, _Hank. Didn't you see my car outside?"

"Don't do that again. Fuckin' wait for me."

No more additional scars dressed my limbs and I swore that once, so briefly, Hank broke a smile as we sat on the bed together sharing a smoke. Him and his damn robe. I was fairly certain by now he was doing this on purpose. Goddamn jackass.

He was holding my bare thigh when I told him I wanted to take him out somewhere, somewhere that wasn’t a fast-food restaurant.

"You asking me on a fucking date? I don't do that."

I nudged him in the ribs. "Oh screw you. No, not a date."

He chewed on the thought.

“Like a buffet?” he asked.

“Maybe a buffet. Maybe… sushi. Maybe a brewery if you can control yourself. They always have good food.”

“Yeah maybe. Long as there’s no fucking pretentious assholes. Remember going to all those microbreweries and shit when they were getting popular. These douchebags stand around and have to taste test and sniff everything.”

“Were you one of those douchebags, Hank?”

He scoffed. “Unfortunately, yeah, I knew my way around a menu.”

"Well, you think about it. Something different."

I took his hand from my leg and held it in my lap for a half-second before shifting around to sit on his legs, my own bent under myself to either side. I wouldn't dare _move _but I was in a good position to do so. My hands idled on the knot as I spoke.

"What're you doing?"

"Tell me about what you said before. Why don't you want to fuck."

For the first time given all our crude talk, this must have been the first time I saw a slight blush rise to Hank's cheeks. He grimaced before responding. "Not answering that."

"You're not attracted to me? You run out of Viagra? Got a third nut you're ashamed of?"

"No."

"'No', _ what_, Hank."

"Don't have a third nut."

"Again, you answer every question except the one I'm asking."

I reached forward to take some strands of his hair through my fingers, leaning in to steal a kiss. I scooted forward to sit flush against his pelvis, but again wouldn't dare _move_, and it took all of my power not to do so for the solid thirty seconds I was able to extract shaky bourbon-tainted breaths from the man. I released before he could push me away, cognizant of the _twitch _ I felt from him between my legs.

His hands held my back, slightly parted lips granting me permission to resume. I was not about to question this, breath ever slowly rising in sordid exhales and I reservedly moved my hips in time, extracting a suppressed groan from the man. 

He allowed this, even daring himself to adjust his own legs so I could push down harder in a slow grind.

But again, he withdrew suddenly and urged me off so he could run (waddle) to the bathroom. This time he turned the shower on.

_ For godsakes_.

I waited in the living room stretched out on the sofa as he finished.

_ Seriously? _

I heard him mutter from the hallway, then louder as he approached. "_Fuck did she.. _what the fuck you doing out here." He was leaning against the room divider.

I sat up cross-legged to look at him. "I'm wondering why the fuck you're so opposed to getting off with me. That's the _second _time you've gone to jerk off in the bathroom after I got you going. I'm just confused, Hank, that's all…"

Like our previous conversation in the car, it was another few moments before he replied. "It's been a while, okay. That’s why. Hey, look, it's not you. You're, uh, a good-looking girl, okay. You're very attractive. I just uh, _fuck..._yeah." He pushed off the wall and headed back to bed. I followed to find him stretched out on his side facing the window. I crawled over and urged him to look at me with a light pull on his bicep.

"Didn't I just -"

I muffled his words with another kiss, coaxing him to turn to his back so I could wrap a hand around his face.

"I swear to Christ, Hank, stop being so fucking hesitant. It pisses me off. You doubt yourself. Cut that shit out. You said you were scared of me. I think you're scared of yourself, to let yourself _maybe _try to move past your shit. Just for a little while. You're allowed to do that, you know. I don’t know if you still feel some messed up sense of loyalty to your ex-wife or that you don’t deserve this, don’t deserve to move on, or something else. But you’re wrong. And I don't really give a flying fuck whether or not you believe me, but it's the truth. I know you're looking for something. And I’m a little insulted that you have to go take care of business in the bathroom instead of letting me do it for you.”

I searched his eyes for some type of answer, finding only dreaded sorrows. I couldn't offer much, just favors and company and friendship. I offered once more, seeking his approval for another kiss, receiving it with a light grip to my side.

He allowed me to crawl atop again and gradually, almost painstakingly so, he responded with full kisses and hitched breaths and tightening fingers on my sides. I grabbed one hand at a time to push down to my hips, and resumed the grueling back and forth I had begun previously. He had his turn already. I needed mine.

"Woah, hey hey hey, hold up."

I knelt back, dragging my hands with me to rest on his stomach, and rolled my eyes so far into my head they could have propelled me into the floor. "What _ now?" _

"Take those off," he said.

"Excuse me?"

"Fucking do it."

I crawled off and tossed aside my panties without shame, though still curious what the fuck he was planning. As I stood with crossed arms, he took a deep swig from his tumbler on the nightstand and scooched down a couple inches on the bed.

"Up," he grunted.

I got back up on the bed, first with knees to either side of his hips.

"No. Up," he said again.

_ Oh_.

I scooted forward to gently nestle over Hank's mouth, supporting myself with palms against the pleather headboard. He wrapped one arm over my thigh, the other still tightly holding his glass over the side of the bed. Warm breath played between my legs, quickly devolving to firm sucks on wet flesh, pulling me down tight, his beard delightfully itchy. I leaned into the headrest immediately, circling to take his tongue deeper, biting my forearm to stop myself from yelping at the contact. I was already shuttering, jolting into his mouth, his tongue rolling magic tricks with curled fingers. He must have finally set the glass down at some point to use both hands. One set of fingers to spread, another to penetrate, mouth ungraciously and unceremoniously fucking me dry. My legs were already beginning to buckle; I couldn't suffocate the man. I managed to curl back just enough to grab the back of his head, squeezing him from all sides as I came into his mouth, _ hard_.

That must have been a record-setting orgasm and _holy fucking shit_. I repeated myself aloud as I tried and failed to catch my breaths. I couldn't move immediately. I barely managed to pull back on shaky legs; he wiped his mouth on my leg before indicating I needed to get off with a light push to my hip. He pushed up completely to grab another smoke. 

"Hank, what the flying fuck was that," I managed, now collapsed at his side, one leg strewn over his stomach.

"Maybe you'll shut the hell up now and stop trying to analyze me."

"No fucking way. How can I shut up after that? You going to let me return the favor or what." I accompanied this by sliding my foot down and over a not-_ completely _flaccid cock, managing to curl into him enough with crossed arms over his chest.

"Jesus, Alex. Figured that would knock you down."

I pushed up to pick the cigarette out of his mouth, extinguishing it on the table, to replace with a firm kiss.

"Only a little while," I said upon release.

He started to complain again about the cigarette I just wasted, his bitching cut short with a hitched breath as I managed to sneak a tight squeeze under his shorts.

_ Bravo, Hank_.

He slapped a hand around my wrist, clamping tight and hissed for me to _ Stop it_. I gave another squeeze in a taunt which just ticked him off further.

_ “Alex _.”

Testing a stroke, he didn’t release his fingers from my skin, only making sure a thick bruise would surround my wrist when I was done. I didn’t meet his eyes, instead burrowing my head in his chest, focusing on my motions and not even completely revealing to the room what I was up to. For as much as I wanted to _look_, even that would be too much for him tonight.

_ Except he just fucking ate me out. Whatever you say, Hank… _

With another dare, I curled and scooted down, basically forcing him to relinquish his grip, his arm falling to the side unsure where to go or what to touch next.

He hissed my name again, to stop me, encourage me, confuse me, who the fuck cared. _ Fuck you and the horse you rode in on, Hank Anderson_.

He didn’t assist as I tugged down the elastic just enough to swipe his tip with my tongue. I heard the clink of his glass from the table as I continued, taking another couple inches in my mouth.

How a dick could also taste of scotch and smoke was a question I’d have to ask another night.

A suppressed and restrained sigh escaped his mouth as I continued, light fingers in my hair, and no more insults or complaining. After a couple whispered utterances of _ fuck _, I pushed away and pivoted myself over. He still clutched his glass in a red-knuckled grip, mouth barely parted, watching, considering these motions without telling me to stop.

I lowered myself in one _very _filling take, a mutual collective sigh of mixed words, including, but not limited to, _ Geezus fucking shit holy fuck, _emanating from us both. I could have sworn at one moment Sumo contributed a very pointed bark from the hallway as his dad’s increased grunts disturbed his nap.

He finally dropped his glass to the floor, both hands gripping my thighs, hesitant along the scars. He didn’t meet my eyes immediately, rather taking in every inch of what was occurring over him, still not entirely comfortable or accepting, but we were in agreement that this would reach a finale.

He craned back into his pillows, indicative to me it was time to swap. I leaned forward to steal a breathy kiss, “You need another drink for courage or you gonna fuck me already.”

“_Dammit, Al. _”

And for once, he obeyed. In one solid flip of arrangements and a crack from his lower back, he kicked off his shorts finally and reinitiated. One brutal thrust and I clawed at his arms, stretching back, being pushed ever further against the headboard. He knelt without pulling out and held my hips, tugging me closer, and lifted both my legs to rest against one shoulder, enabling deeper bruising penetration.

I was tight and he could tell but gentle was never how I wanted this. I took back my legs and with a push to his chest, he lifted up just enough so I would roll over to my stomach and arch up my hips for him. I burrowed my face into the sheets, preparing myself with fistfuls of fabric at my sides. He taunted me for a moment, running his fingers to massage my warm and reddened flesh, tongue flicking one final path in mock apology, before pressing in again, quickly resuming the pace, pummeling me into his bed. Between our rising gasps, guttural outbursts, and my heightened whimpering, I managed something along the lines of, “_Took you long enough. _”

“_Fuck. You. _”

I reached down a hand to assist myself but he was already coming, open gasps along my shoulder blade, one arm stretched along my ear, the other gripping my breast under my disheveled shirt. 

His hair tickled my neck as he paused in recovery, slipping out from between my legs in a final exhale. I was actually shocked that he lingered against my back for a while, even more surprised when he brushed my cheek and allowed me to turn over slowly and take him in a deep and needy kiss. He released first, pressing his forehead to mine for just a second before pushing away completely to pad off to the bathroom and take a piss.

I gave him the courtesy of flushing in private before I joined him in the bathroom. He was popping one of his pill bottles over the sink so with no forewarning, I sat.

“What the hell, Alex.”

“Either this or I drip your jizz all over the house, Hank. And that would be pretty damn gross. Just imagine if Sumo found that.”

“Hey! What the fuck did I tell you about being weird.”

“Absolutely nothing,” I said as I wiped and stood. “Just that I was. And deep down, deep deep down, it turns out you actually like it.”

“Never said that.”

“No? Must have just imagined the past hour then. That’s too bad.”

He had found a half-empty bottle of whiskey in his bathtub and now sat on its edge taking a couple swigs.

I finished washing up with a few splashes from the sink and joined him on the cold porcelain with hands tight between my knees. We passed the bottle back and forth a few times in silence. I was freezing and covered in goosebumps but I wasn't ready to move yet. I liked it in here. The simplicity of it. The bathroom was a sanctuary in a way, a collection of Hank's shirts and old food containers I had forgotten to throw out, a mop that needed replacing. We heard and then watched Sumo slowly trudge past and turn into the bedroom to splay on the floor atop a magazine. _Sorry for waking you boy, I tried to be quiet._ I had a flickering thought of fucking Hank again in the shower, but that would wait for another night. Not now. 

“Hank.”

“I really don’t want to talk, Al.”

“Too bad.” I took the hand not responsible for transferring the liquid to that mouth and placed it, splayed palm, over the scars on my thigh.

“I’m really trying not to do this anymore, Hank. I’m not ashamed of them, but I know I need to stop. I know that you’re disappointed when I do it. And yet you still touch me. And I’m grateful. And I would _ like _ to think, that maybe - maybe you finally accept that I’m okay with your shit, too.”

After a beat, he clanked the bottle to the tile, more forcefully than I expected and I started.

He gripped my leg tight, and under a breath, he said, “Do you think I hate you? That I’m using you? We’re using each other, Al. That’s definitely true. But you were right about what you said before. I don’t deserve this. I don’t deserve you. I fucked up. Everything was fucked after...after…. You’re a good woman. No clue what you’re doing here with me. And yeah, I’m fucking scared. Haven’t been with anyone since my ex-wife and wasn’t really planning on it. But you’re always here, fucking driving my ass home, coming in uninvited, you’re god damn annoying. I do... want you here. Okay? I - I’d be fucked if you weren’t here.”

It was probably the hormones and the alcohol and freezing my ass off in my partial nudity but I felt like crying. And because I could never be serious, I said, “Hank, do you have a crush on me?”

He scoffed and grabbed the bottle from the floor and made off for the bedroom again. I trailed him and took his hand in the hallway, forcing him to pause and peer at me through exhausted red eyes.

“Thank you. For finally admitting that,” I said. “Can I stay?”

“You wouldn’t leave if I said no anyway.” Something barely resembling a smile broke his features and he said, softer, “Course you can stay. Just put on some damn pants.”

Hank softened that night, whether it was the cold air that broke through in drafts from his windows that forced us closer, or the alcohol that destroyed his inhibitions and turned me into a giggling mess, or the tobacco and pot that relaxed us on top of unmade and unwashed bedsheets, I wasn’t sure. Could have been the similar tragedies and deaths that guided our actions into self-destruction, my own lack of control exhibited the following morning on his stained straight-edge, maybe it was every maddening fuck in the back seat of his Oldsmobile after each write-up from his superior. We were guiding each other to something inevitable. This new coping mechanism was something else he could hold onto at night, something else to supplement his other habits and resist that temptation to blast a bullet though his brain. We were enabling each other and as the end of 2037 approached, I knew through my own denials, that this wouldn't last either of us much longer. 

**Notes for the Chapter:**

> Aww, our boy! Buckle your seat belt kiddos, remember those tags and the story summary.


	7. I See You

Our relationship, or whatever fucked up tragedy we were calling it that winter, picked up intensity each night. After a failed interrogation, Hank would drink and go down on me in the bar's storeroom or the backseat of his car. After a write-up, we'd start in his car and end up somewhere between the living room coffee table and the bathroom doorway. Of course, _of course_, I was happy with his change of mind, using me to take out that frustration and exhaustion and _anger_. He only asked me once if he was hurting me, half-bent over his kitchen table, developing a thick red line from the edge of the wood at the top of my thighs.

'_Of course not_', I said. Of course not.

And between two consenting adults, what did it matter.

We didn't have much to say to each other. Just the complaints about his work and _people_ and the department. _Goddamn fucking androids_ and the rising unemployment rate.

_'Why did that fucktard Kamski think this was a good thing. Shoulda just kept his creations to himself. Go fuck them in private._'

The scars were bothering him. Once, way before Hank, they were how I dealt with the pain of losing my brother. Now, more recently, they were welling back up from _this_, this.... _thing_ we were to each other and I wasn't sure how to deal. So if he wasn't nearby to fuck me senseless into the unwaxed flooring as his own way of _dealing_ \- typically accompanied by a half-sloshed over glass of something or cigarette smoke in my hair - I'd find a way to placate myself.

Day after Christmas and Hank was ass-up in bed, wet snores coming from his devil's lair of a mouth. I had bought him some stupid gag gift of candycane striped knee-socks which I was now struggling to get onto his feet without disturbing his sleep.

I treated myself to a hot shower, culminating sitting in the basin with my head against the cold tile. My skin was dry from the winter air, constantly washing, moisturizing, but the moisture never holding long enough that my hands wouldn't crack. Mindlessly, I was picking at my thighs under the spray, not even intending to break the skin and yet...

I heard Hank grumble, yelling, really, since I could hear him past the water and across the hall.

"_What the hell did you put on my feet, Al?_"

I pushed aside the shower curtain just enough to witness Hank, buck-ass naked in his blue robe and the dumbass Christmas socks from the Dollar Store. I had to laugh at the sheer disdain on his face and the socks that were so out of place on his legs. 

"These things aren't even comfortable. Not even diabetic, don't need freaking compression-wear... What're you doing down there?"

He came closer to sit on the closed toilet seat and leaned forward. I was still giggling to myself but had calmed down as I noted the concern that had replaced the disgust.

"You gonna stop wasting water and tell me what the hell is going on?"

"I just want to sit, Hank, that's all."

"Nuh-uh."

I held to myself tighter.

"Alex."

I sighed and leaned over to shut off the water before standing. I swiped the towel off the rack ignoring Hank's gaze. I really did not need that right now.

As I stepped out, he grabbed my wrist, but rather than reprimanding me _again_, he tugged me in, just to hold. The edges of his robe soft against my sides, stubbled cheek in my hair, and without judgment or that harsh piercing stare I used to receive with every visit only weeks prior, he held tight to me, as if the tiles would open up and swallow us whole, unapologetic. I was only vaguely aware, my own senses clouded from the hot water and exhaustion that I was still bleeding, very slow and steady drips mixed with the water, a faint pink dripping to the bath mat.

"Hank," I finally whispered.

"I know," he said. He withdrew completely to grab a wadded-up towel from atop the sink counter and knelt to dry me off, pressing the fabric into my skin, his nasal exhales arousing an inadvertent sigh.

I curled my fingers through his hair, the lightest press instructing him.

"You serious?" he grumbled.

"Yes."

Still holding the towel against one leg, he wrapped his other hand around my ass to sandwich me between a solid grip and that mouth, fucking _hell_ that mouth. We came to lay on the tile, my head still spinning a bit from the steam contrasted against the cold floor and Hank's warm breath fucking me dizzy. He gripped both of my wrists tight to the floor even as I struggled to free myself, but I knew he did it so I wouldn't scratch myself again.

The last time I topped him I hadn't even realized what I did until I smeared a light trail of blood on his cheek.

"Ah _fuck. _I bled on you."

"What?!" he nearly threw me off. "Are you-"

"No! Asshole. Geez, why are men so scared of that anyway. No, I just - I fucking scratched myself somehow and got it on your face." I licked a finger to wipe it off; he tried to bat me away but didn't win.

"Gonna have to start tying those hands up, I guess."

"I guess you will."

He finished me on the bathroom floor, still holding my wrists so tight that I'd see bruises in the morning. He rested his chin on my pelvis for a few moments before he finally relinquished, stood up and rinsed out his mouth at the sink.

I pushed back against the wall as well, not quite ready to stand. I needed a minute.

"Really wish you'd stop that. Hate seeing it."

He was eyeing my legs again.

"I know. I'm going to, I promise."

"Yeah? When?"

Instead of answering, I grabbed my towel to wrap up and brushed past him to redress, or at least put on PJ bottoms.

Hank followed after a minute, that robe still swung lose and socks now unevenly rolled along his legs, he leaned against the doorway, fresh cigarette flopped between his lips.

"Alex."

"What." I was brushing my hair with my fingers when he repeated my name.

"What's going on?"

I faced him, acknowledging it was finally time to say this: "I'm going to stop tomorrow. I uh - I was out earlier, just, kinda walking the neighborhood. Found this little treatment clinic, I guess they're a whole you know, health service with a ton of locations. I signed up for their site in Toledo. I need this, Hank. And I am sorry that I'm only telling you now, that I only decided this now. It’s fucked that it took me this long to realize it, to even want it. There’s something about this - we both know deep down this isn’t healthy. I just - I really hope you realize that I do care for you. It’s been fun hauling your ass around, getting yelled at for giving a shit, enabling each other’s fucking horrible habits. It’s been nice to -”

“Stop. I get it,” he said. It wasn’t anger or disappointment or sadness that traced those words. A simple understanding perhaps, that I was the next to leave him.

“Hank-”

“Want me to drive you?”

“No, I - I’ll just grab the bus. It’s okay.”

He grunted once, eyes unfocused along my body, before he turned away to slunk down the hall, putting out his cigarette against the wall.

I paused a moment before I followed him, gripping his hand to get him to stop.

“Hank,” I whispered again.

He stopped where the rooms opened up, arms crossed tight. Sumo emerged from his bed in the corner to pad around us and down the hallway, purposefully trying to make me feel worse with those droopy eyes.

“I’m glad you’re going, Alex. How long you gonna be there?”

“Oh, I - I don’t really know. Not long, probably. I just need the time away - alone, I mean - I - Hank, I don’t want you to think you’re the reason I’m going.”

“I’m a grown-ass man, Al. It was your choice to fuck around with me. Picking up a damn razor again. You need to stop that and if this is what does it, then good.”

All I could provide was a contemplative nod. “Yeah,” I said. "Thank you."

"For what?"

"Bit of everything."

"Back at ya."

* * *

I slipped out once he had fallen asleep in his inebriation. I wasn’t good at emotional goodbyes, but I made sure to give Sumo a hug and some very well-deserved scratches behind his ears for putting up with our shit. I'd miss him.  
  
The original plan was to only be in Toledo for a couple weeks and then see how I was feeling, but of course, life doesn’t work like that. I was there for a couple months before there were whispers, very faint hints, of androids not quite acting right. Little things at first, like not responding to an order immediately. Taking a second glance at a shop-window when they should have been looking at their owners’ backs. Nothing on the news, nothing that couldn’t be fixed by a quick trip to the shops or the landfill.

I stayed away from Detroit for the remainder of the year; it wasn’t until well after the revolutions across the country, the uprisings, the new boundaries and laws, that I could even _think _of returning. There were so many reasons - excuses - why I didn't return immediately. Part of me was scared I would relapse, again, so I needed to find something else to do with my life, to be productive.

And 2039 would be the perfect year for that. If, no, _when_ I returned to Detroit, I would have some stories to share with Hank. If he was willing to see me again.

It wasn’t until I was mindlessly floating around a Red Ice thread online and came across a user who owned a bar there, who so happened to be dating an android, an android who worked for the DPD, that I felt that final, singular tug in my gut to haul ass back home, no argument required.

**Notes for the Chapter:**

> Sorry for the long delay, y'all. Obvs this year has been rough. We're going to have a little time-skip to 2040: starting with the next chapter, this fic will begin to overlay with 'Experiences, Connor' (parallel with that ch 20).  
I originally planned on ending this fic with their breakup, but I've grown fond of these two and Hank is just so much fun to write.  
(I'm also using these fics to experiment with parallel narratives, so thank you for your patience. And a big thanks to the few of you who have been following!!)


	8. Part 2 - "Our fearful trip is done"

* * *

2040, March

This woman I had met in the forum, Lana, she owned a bar not too far from where I used to live. She had seemed decent enough from our brief 'Red-Ice-killed-our-brothers' chat. I had done so well the past couple years not drinking, but if I was heading back to Detroit, with full knowledge of possibly seeing Hank again, I would need a little more courage than what I had built naturally over the past year.

Fuck it.

A rum and coke once a week every other week helped. I didn’t stay long each time. I had my suspicions that she knew Hank obviously, but I didn’t want to get into the topic of my love life with someone who was still nearly a complete stranger. I wasn’t interested. I tucked myself away and purposefully avoided eye contact with _anyone_, fiddling on my phone just long enough to pass a stage in a stupid game, down my glass in a few sips, and waltz out. I didn’t want the interference and as kind as she was, I didn’t really want a friend at the moment, either. I could tell she was disappointed, probably aching to get in on the gossip, maybe feeling a little left out since she had, after all, dropped the knowledge of her ties to the DPD which piqued my interest.

And I’d thank her or one of her employees every time from my corner seat and dash out before anyone noticed.

I only continued to return out of politeness after a few visits. Politeness and boredom and reasonable prices.

I returned out of the sheer _risk_ of possibly seeing Hank walk through that door in the evenings, my heart pounding in my chest every time the little bell chimed and it was some other depressed older man with a chip on his shoulder.

I returned because I was an emotional masochist, torturing myself like a cat with its play wand.

_Here's a Hank, nooooo, here's a Hank, nooooo, bad Alex, bad!_ _Stop being a lazy bitch and find the asshole already!_

I wouldn't be left alone for long, however. At some point in June, Lana called my name the second I entered.

_Dammit_.

She beckoned me to sit next to the android propped in front of her. The man might have had normal streetwear, but he needed to work on that posture.

She softened me up with my usual before getting right to the point:

“Alex,” Lana said. “Do you uh - do you know a man named Hank? Hank Anderson?”

I straightened up in a preemptive anger-relief stretch before I answered. The stretch didn’t do much to quell my attitude and I came across as a bit more blunt than intended.

_All I wanted was to get in and get out_.

“Yeah,” I said. “Why do you want to know? Why? How do you know him?”

Mr. Perfect-Hair swiveled in his stool to look at me. “We work together at the Department. My name is Connor. I was assigned to Hank a couple of years ago; we’ve been working together ever since.”

_So this was the android boyfriend she mentioned. Pretty sure I heard the name somewhere before, too_.

I tried to stifle my swelling snarkiness and obvious shock. _Incoming 'whoops'_.

“You have got to be fucking kidding me. Hank, with an android case partner? God, things have changed. You’re fucking kidding me. Look, I’m sorry, I love… androids now. I do. You know, shit’s changed. I just uh, never thought that would happen with him. So, okay, you know Hank from work, but what about you?” I asked Lana.

“I - kind of assumed you knew. He comes here. That’s how I met the two of them. And you always leave before he shows up, so I figured that was on purpose.”

“Yeah, I mean, it’s all one big fucking coincidence, isn’t it,” I said.

I slid off the stool and downed the remaining liquid in a single gulp. I tossed a ten on the counter with a sharp inhale before I asked, “Look, uh, why did you think I knew him anyway? How’d that happen?”

Lana sighed before she spoke, in the way that indicated she knew too much already and was opening a rotten can of beans if she kept this up.

_Time to spill it._

“Hank uh, he mentioned you the other day. We’ve been wanting to find him a girlfriend but he’s so damn resistant. I’m guessing now you’re why.”

“How do you know Hank?” Connor asked.

I wasn't about to spill my guts to the android. He seemed like the type who always had to be honest. I’m sure they were genuinely nice enough people, concerned for Hank, absolutely, but this was between me and him. I pushed away and made for the door. “I’m sorry, but that’s not really any of your damn business. And I’d appreciate it if you didn’t say anything to him. But I have no reason to trust you’d do that, now do I?”

I didn’t want a reply; I was angry. I had struggled enough determining when and how I was going to talk to him again. I had contemplated over the weeks to just go to his house, but in hindsight, I’m glad I hadn’t chosen that option as it might have led me to these two, if they were all as close as I now presumed them to be.

* * *

Two weeks later I said fuck it. I couldn’t let any more time pass. I had run out of excuses.

I would try the police department first. If he wasn’t in, then I could wait in the parking lot behind a dumpster.

_Boo! Long time no see, how’s it going, yep, it’s me_.

That would guarantee a shot between the eyes.

It was a pleasant late evening. With shaking hands, I counted my breaths and steps as I walked to the station. The long walk would help calm my nerves. Count my surroundings. Ground myself.

Five things I can see.

_Five. A parked taxi cab waiting for its next passenger outside the Eden Club_.

I took the long way to the DPD so I wouldn’t have to pass Hank’s place. I had never experienced anxiety before recently, but before I had come back to Detroit, during my time away from this city, it caught hold of me.

_Four. Squirrels chasing each other in a thin strip of a park._

_Three. A car accident a few blocks to the right of me._

_Two. Androids talking outside a restaurant. Or were they humans?_

_One. A new townhouse development_.

Four things I can touch.

_Pockets of my shorts._

_Lighter in the pockets._

_My sweaty armpits…._

_The breeze_.

“The fucking handrail of this fucking building,” I sighed. “That’s five. Whoopsies.”

I entered the DPD, my heart about to break out of my chest. I had only been here once during the time I was with Hank.

I had convinced him to show me the Interrogation Room a week or so prior to leaving him. He had pretended to have to catch up on some late case reports (though even I knew they were _actually_ late case reports) and snuck me in through a fire exit.

See, touch, hear….smell, and taste.

Taste of that steel table as I sprawled face-down.

Smell of his breath after a fresh cigarette.

Hear his faltered exhales upon release.

Touch his chest through that stupid plaid button-down.

See his eyes pierce daggers in furious regret that he had conveniently forgotten to shut off the camera.

“Hi,” I said to the receptionist. There was only one woman at the front desk tonight. An android, but she looked tired.

“Can I help you?”

“Yeah, I um..._fuck_, Hank isn’t around is he?”

“Are you referring to the Captain? Captain Hank Anderson?”

“‘_Captain_’? Jesus, he got a promotion?”

“Yes, miss. Captain Anderson hasn’t been in for two weeks. But he is due back soon. Do you need something?”

“No, uh. No, it’s okay. Thanks.”

I scurried out and down the steps.

Two weeks? That wasn’t normal even for the old Hank I knew. Did something happen? Should I have asked the woman at the desk? Or even poked around his desk…. I reconsidered that option but my time was better spent running around the city like a crazy lady.

And ‘_Captain_’ Anderson? As in, ‘_Oh, Captain, My Captain_’ -

“ ‘_Rise up and hear the bells_’? As soon as I find this fucker, oh, I’m gonna make him hear the bells, all right. _Captain_….” I couldn’t get over it. The man got the promotion of a lifetime, which I never could have imagined in a million years.

I had avoided looking up any news about Detroit when I was away. Maybe I would have seen the announcement, I thought. Maybe I wouldn’t be so surprised trying to picture what _Captain Anderson_ looked like.

“Better not have cut that hair,” I hissed.

But it had been a long time. He had an android case-partner, he was _Captain_ of the fucking DPD, what was I going to learn about him next? He was doing his own laundry?

Was he sober?

I was more nervous than when I had started my trek. What was I going to encounter?

“Okay, almost there,” I sighed out loud to myself. “Let’s finish this.”

Three things I can hear.

_Car horns_. For the few people left here who hadn’t evacuated after the revolution, some of them were still driving old cars. It was nice to hear that again. I missed cars and the smell of gasoline.

_Crackle of the street lamps._

_Footsteps of two approaching strangers_ -

“Goddammit.”

I paused for a half-second and then continued. We collectively stopped within reasonable speaking distance, but there was still a tension of apprehension between myself and the other two.

“Alex, what are you doing here? Are you all right?” Connor asked.

“What? Oh, yeah, just uh - I was looking for Hank. Figured it was about time I find him. He’s not in at the PD. Is he at home?” Their features turned grave. “What? Is he okay?”

Connor replied, closing the space between us a few paces. “We just left him, yes. He is grieving. His dog died last week.”

“_Shit_.”

I paused for a half-second to reorient myself, only half-absorbing the rest of their words before I ran.

“I don’t know if - is that a good idea? Alex?”

“_Shit. Shit, shit, shit_.”

This time I headed straight up 3rd for Michigan Ave.

_Fuck damn am I out of shape_. “_Fuck_.” I had to keep cursing to myself out-loud to suppress the tears.

_Dammit, Sumo_. “I’m so sorry, I’m so - fuck - goddammit. God fucking dammit.”

Ten minutes of this and I nearly slammed myself into Hank’s post box. I held tight for a moment as I caught my breath, looking all around the property. The house looked the same, the lawn was the same, the trash cans..._huh, those are actually put away_.

The car...missing.

“You have to be fucking shitting me right now.”

I wasn’t about to run around to all the bars at this hour, he had had too many usuals from back in the day, would take me the rest of the night.

The park. He knew I was in town. He just suffered another loss. He had to be there. Riverside Park was too far to walk from here. It would only be a ten-minute taxi ride, max.

I requested one via the app and only had 60 seconds before it would turn the corner down his street. I was still out of breath from the run but strode over to the fence line where I knew Sumo’s house used to be. In the dark shadows, faintly illuminated by a soft light left on in the kitchen, I could barely make out the shape of a staked tree branch and Sumo’s circular collar.

* * *

  
I had the autonomous cab drop me off right on West Grand near the parking lots. I paused for all of a second before journeying forward. It was a beautiful warm night; the lights still shone on the Ambassador Bridge a ways off. A few other lonely people were wandering around, but I couldn’t tell if they were android or human in the darkness.

There was little evidence that riots may ever have occurred here. I’m glad the park was still operational.

I was honing in. I paused again as I neared the playground and surveyed the benches.

_Where’s that hair, surly closed-off posture, maybe drinking on the ground_.

“I know you’re here, Hank Anderson,” I whispered. “I know you are.”

As I rounded the swing set, I spotted him.

Well, I spotted his legs.

I bent down at the entrance to the castle and spoke to the denim ending in brown shoes.

“Hi, Hank.”

**Notes for the Chapter:**

> Howdy, this chapter runs partially parallel to 20/21 of 'Experiences, Connor' for reference. Thanks for stopping by :)  
Chapter title and in-line quote from 'O Captain! My Captain!' (Whitman, 1865)


	9. Kindling

_ Thwack_.

“Goddammit,” he growled. “What in the fuck.” He pulled himself forward out of the castle and I stepped back a few paces to give him space, biting my bottom lip to distract myself from my impending heart attack.

With a couple very loud cracks, he managed to stand, rubbing the back of his head. He brushed off his pants and finally met my gaze.

“Jesus Fucking Christ, what the hell are you doing here?”

He leaned back onto the plastic structure for support. The first thing I noticed through his grumbles was his hair, partially pulled back into a short ponytail. The rest of his style hadn’t changed, t-shirt under a button-down, but the colors seemed… more subdued. Like he might wear this one at work and actually not want to dirty it with various lunch-time condiments.

His stare was piercing, a thorough mixture of shock, exhaustion, confusion, and general pissedoffedness. There were a million and a half ways I could respond to this greeting and I hadn’t settled on a single one on my way here.

“You look good, Hank.”

“Geez.” He stepped past me towards the benches and walkway. He downed the rest of the beer bottle he had emerged with and tossed the glass into the river.

“_Fuck.” _

I thought he would keep walking but instead, he settled along the railing and stretched his arms. He was waiting.

I approached and paused in his peripheral vision, trying to look for any evidence of the tiny wave from his litter in the water. The lights from the bridge were reflected and distorted and a light breeze teased the surface tension of the river.

“Hank, I’m - I’m sorry. I am so goddamn -”

“I thought you were dead, Al.” He was stoic, using his policeman voice as if to report a murder to his unit.

My breath stuck. My eyes hurt. “I know. I should've-”

“Don’t. Okay?” He turned from the railing to look at me, his next words spilling out too eloquently for a man suddenly disturbed from his musings. He must have thought about this night. Prepared for it. “You know, you’ve been back here for how many weeks now, I had to hear it from my damn partner’s girlfriend ‘cause I guess you two are internet buddies. I was convinced you were fucking dead ‘cause I never heard from you for two _years_. You come back here, you finally show your face, why, why now, why not earlier, why…”

He broke off to stare across the river then back to me, head hanging to examine the loose pebbles in the concrete.

“Why not before Sumo died,” I said.

He squeezed shut his eyes and turned back to cross his arms over the railing.

“Connor told me. I was looking for you at the station and ran into them. Ran to your house. Came here. Hank, I’m so sorry. And you're right. I kicked myself in the ass the entire way here. Knowing that I - ” I cut myself off to suppress the oncoming tears again. _Knowing that I could have been here when it happened_, I wanted to say. _Knowing that I __was here within city limits __but didn't show my face_.

He didn’t say anything for several minutes and I didn’t offer anything else. I took a step and reached out a hand to his arm which triggered him to step away, opening the distance between us again.

“You wanna tell me why I never heard from you? You force yourself into my life, drag my ass from kitchen to toilet every other night, always intruding, you were always there, always - you know I think I actually started looking forward to it - and then you don’t even leave a goddamn postcard telling me where you were going after you checked out of that place. I moved on, Al, but _ fuck _ if that didn’t hurt. Didn’t think it would, but it did. Spending time with you, and then the fucking and the late nights and the drinks, the days that I wasn’t totally wasted, you know, after all - all that, I actually - I missed you,” he said softer. “You know I tried to fuckin’ visit right after the New Year. You weren’t taking visitors. They wouldn’t even let me in when I showed them my badge. Been spending the last two years out doin’ shit with Connor and his girl and every once in a while I’d be thinking, ' _ Fuck, wonder what Al’s up to _.'”

His words hit me in the gut and I struggled to speak again. “I didn’t know,” I said, my voice lower in the realization that I had fucked up.

To think he drove an hour to see me. That he missed me, even thought of me in passing. When I was in the clinic, I had to tell myself that was it, we had our fun, and he was done and would continue his imbibing and not care if his ass was wet from the rain in the morning. I had to tell myself those things, convince myself of them because I knew I had hurt him by leaving. We were there for each other, these fucked up sources of reliable comfort. I took care of him, and yes, of _course _I had developed feelings for the man, but I hadn’t ever thought they were returned on par. Not like this.

“I didn’t know, Hank. I didn’t take visitors because I was afraid. I was afraid of seeing you again and wanting to leave but if I had known... I was in Toledo for a couple months but then the deviancy started and I had a couple friends up in Erie offer to take me in. They had work. What I didn’t know was that the work was going to be transporting androids into Canada. That’s what I was doing that year. And then once it started happening everywhere, here, Cleveland, Pittsburgh, Buffalo, Niagara Falls, the roads were being blocked, some places were being taken over by the androids, others reclaimed by people, some like this, some split, but the border-crossings were all in flames, I’m sure you know that. Then trying to reestablish some interstate travel…. Hank, I literally couldn’t leave Pennsylvania for a couple months, not legally. So, I stayed put and helped where I could between there and New York. That was all of last year, as well. Traveling the border. You were right to assume I could have been dead. I absolutely came close to it. The only thing that kept me going half the time was wanting to tell you these stories and see the look on your face. It’s kinda ironic that you like androids now, I wouldn’t get the same look that I was imagining.”

Hank chewed the inside of his cheek as I spoke. Perhaps to quell more confessions, perhaps formulating what the fuck to do next. Wondering whether or not I deserved forgiveness for causing this hurricane in his life only to vanish with no trace. I was so nervous, my mind still spinning from what he had just said, his features tonight so reminiscent of all the times I had intruded into his life.

“Yeah, well, you’ll get a look one way or the other. Tell me,” he said, walking back towards the benches.

“What?”

“Fucking tell me what happened, come on.” But instead of sitting down, he went back to the castle and fiddled along the ground, pulling out a six-pack (only three left), and returned to sit, placing them on the ground at his feet. He popped one with an opener from his pocket and set it at his side. He popped a second and held it out to me. “Sit the fuck down and tell me everything. Come on. I need the distraction anyway.”

There was nothing left of the label by the time I was done talking. I must have picked it clean within the first 30 minutes and then rolled crumbs of paper in my fingers for the remaining 90. There was a bombing up at Niagara so we scattered back to Buffalo. Buffalo back to Erie. Erie to the suburbs of Pittsburgh. Eventually Cleveland to Sandusky. I had traveled that entire length of the I-90 corridor multiple times in well over a year. Almost got caught more than once by local police when my tires lost air but I had no choice but to re-pump in a Walmart parking lot. Helping friends and families, some even accompanied by their previous owners on the initial journey across. The innumerable bodies being fished from the lake by law enforcement, human and android alike. Throngs who had journeyed all the way from the Eastern Seaboard, their numbers dwindling every other day. It truly was a modern Underground Railroad. Once we even passed the dismantled remnants of the camps on the highway through West Seneca. Dismantled or to-be-assembled? After the revolution in Detroit, the quick turn-around of deviancy and uprisings, the northeast state governors banded together and would follow Detroit’s example. But that was only on paper, and like every other upset in history, the events that actually transpired on the ground varied widely from county to county, governor to mayor. To this day I still wasn’t sure in which direction those gates were being transported.

I finally settled back in Erie for a while with a non-profit office job. Then returned to Detroit and was lucky enough to land a gig at a rehab center as an administrator.

Hank didn’t say anything as I spoke nor immediately after I ended.

“_Jesus fuck _,” was his first whisper.

When he finally cracked the last bottle, cupping it in his hands between his knees, he said, “Never thought I’d be on their side, either, Al. Never fucking thought it would be like this.”

“Nope.”

Hank was still absorbing my story, silent and motionless at my side for several long minutes.

I interrupted his contemplation first: “Hank, she told me at the station you were promoted. Wanna talk about something I’d never thought I’d see. You’re a different man, I can tell that just by sitting with you. I’d like to hear what you’ve been up to.”

He sniggered. He actually fucking laughed. “Too damn much is what.”

He stood and threw his empty into the trash bin, before heading behind me towards the lot.

“Come on. It’s getting cold.”

My own empty followed suit and I joined Hank in that too-familiar Oldsmobile.

I know I had just narrated the heavy and solemn history of my time away, so I did my best to suppress a smile at the memories made in the back seat of this car. This really wasn’t the time for dirty thoughts about his driveway... a beer distributor parking lot. _ Wait, that was a handjob while driving home from the distributor_.

We drove in silence until he pulled up to his home. He actually parked on the pavement, it was a miracle.

Entering the home was like getting punched in the face by The Twilight Zone; I had stepped into an alternate reality. The house was…clean. It was organized. A few odds and ends like any other home but it even smelled...it didn’t smell at all. There was an absence of smell. Hank had turned domestic.

“Uh, Hank, before anything, you gonna tell me what the fuck happened to your house.”

I know I had done a decent job in my time here, but this was something else. As I was gawking at the impeccable arrangement of his small kitchen appliances, he finished up in the bathroom and returned, minus shoes and button-down, and took his place in that old arm-chair. I could tell he was trying not to look down the side of the chair where Sumo used to lay. My heart broke and I felt guilty for joking.

“After you left, I kicked my ass into gear and did what I could. Helped open my eyes, I guess. But otherwise, that’s Connor and Lana for you. He lives here. After the revolution, I took him in. He’s a good kid. And Lana, well, she’s here just as much as he is. But they’ve been spending more time at her place.”

“They sound like good people.”

“Yeah. They’ve been good to me. Pains in the ass sometimes, but I seem to attract that type, huh.”

I took my old position on the sofa and tucked my legs to the side. “Looks like it’s your turn to share, Hank.”

After I had left, his disciplinary report grew legs and walked away. He told me about his cases with Connor, his hesitancy and anger, which grew to curiosity and caring, eventually to love. He took over as Captain after Fowler was called to Cleveland. Connor met Lana (_“Yadda yadda yadda, I got to hear all about his new sex life” _ ) and how she turned out to be the cousin of pain-in-the-dick Detective Gavin and there was some whole debacle about her link to Red Ice (_“She tell you when you met online she helped her dead brother deal? Didn’t think so.” _) Hank also told me about how they were pushing him to date an android he had met at a painting class.

“Wait,” I said, laughing now. “A painting class? And a lady android? Explain this to me, please.”

Hank was softening up as he spoke back recalling the past two years. He laughed with me at this. “Yeah, it was at one of those community centers. Lana’s been trying to get Connor out and try new stuff, you know, kinda cute date idea, I guess, and as their perpetual third-wheel, I got dragged into it. And the android, her name’s Danielle. We’re just friends, don’t know how many times I repeated myself to the other two, so I’m telling you now. She’s been nice, we get a coffee sometimes. Okay, we did the symphony once, too, but I wasn’t interested in her like that. Never was. Made that very clear. I told her, told the two of them, ‘_ No. Dates _.’”

He broke eye-contact to pull at a loose thread in his chair before resting his head back.

I pushed up out of the sofa and stepped over to him.

“Al, don’t.”

I raised my hands defensively. “I wasn’t going to!”

Rather than fulfilling his nightmare of being straddled, I knelt at his side and took his free hand into mine.

“Tell me about Sumo.”

His fingers twitched but he didn’t pull back. “He got old, that’s all, hip dysplasia. Lana came to find me at work. She said Sumo was already dead when she and Connor had returned to the house that night.”

“I’m so sorry, Hank. You know I loved that dog. And I’m sorry that I - that I didn’t come back sooner. I know I should have tried. I’m so sorry about him.”

“Thanks. Fuck, it’s late.”

“Holy shit,” I laughed. I released his hand and stood up, noting the time on his microwave in the kitchen. 3:24 AM. “We had a lot to talk about. I should definitely get going.” I stepped around his furniture to find my shoes.

“Al, stop. Take the fucking sofa for the night. The two of them won’t be by tomorrow.”

“Hank, are you sure? Is this some ploy to shoot me in the head for leaving you?”

I regretted the quip as soon as it came out of my mouth but emotions and tensions were still high and it was so late and I was so tired, I didn’t have a filter. Never had one anyway.

“Sorry,” I said, looking back at him still in the chair. “I, uh-”

“It’s fine. Ain’t gonna shoot you. You did what you had to do, Al. I get it. I - ya know if there's one thing Connor taught me since I met him, it's how to move past shit. How to forgive and understand, crap like that. And you went through hell, Al. You did a lot for them. Might shoot you for never writing to me, though. Fuckin’ ghosting like that isn’t cool.” He grunted and stretched as he stood from his chair to head into the kitchen.

“Ghosts are immaterial, Hank. Good luck with that.”

He muttered something under his breath that sounded suspiciously like, “You’re fucking weird, Al.”

“Excuse me?” I asked. I walked through the living room to pause at the border between the hardwood and kitchen tile. “You wanna say that a little louder for the people in the back?”

He tossed out a few lone pieces of trash from the counter and turned back to face me properly from a few feet away.

“You. Are. REALLY. Fucking. Weird. Fucking immaterial ghosts...”

Prompted by that code word, I stepped forward and reached up to lightly hold the side of his face, requesting permission to pursue contact. When he didn't recoil, I motioned to close the gap, his lips meeting mine, slightly more forceful than I had predicted. _ I missed this. _I relinquished after a moment to survey those tired eyes. I was actually shocked that he returned the motions: his kisses slow but deep, needy, his fingertips barely touching my cheek as my own faltering hand fingered his shirt.

He was rarely this tender, ever, the last time around. It was hesitant and resistant cuddling and later, rough drunk fucks on the floor.

I broke first, my mind reeling from this reinitiation of intimacy, and whispered, unsure if my words even came out coherently, “Hank, I'd like to start over with you. Wanna get to know you again.”

Hank broke away completely with the eyes of a man woken from a hundred-year slumber.

“Do you think we can try that?" I asked. "We never really had a date other than that concert.”

His eyes went wide. “That was a date?”

“No! I mean - are you fucking teasing me? You piece of shit!” I playfully whacked his chest with the back of my hand. “Was that a date to you?”

He shrugged. “I had a good time with you.” And then after a few more moments of contemplation, he nodded. “Are you better? Realized I never fucking asked you that. Are you - you’re not doing -”

“No, no, I’m doing really well. Thank you. Just needed the time and some good therapy. I hate saying this but the revolutions...they helped me, too. Does that make any sense? I probably sound like an asshole, but using someone else’s pain and problems kinda helped distract me.”

“Nah, hey, I’m the first to tell you that Connor helped me realize a lot of shit. Everything that went down here, seeing him turn human before my eyes, seeing what was happening to all those other androids, yeah, really puts life in perspective for ya. That boy, he taught me to forgive myself. After Cole and being with you, you were right what you said to me before you left. We weren’t good for each other. Took me a while to admit it but without ever telling him about you, he still helped me. Helped me come to terms with Cole’s death. Helped me detox. But if you’re doing better, if you’re not drinking or smoking either - well, I still need one or two, but that’s where it stops now - then yeah, we can try that. We can go on a date.”

I had no idea what I was going to walk into tonight and I deeply regretted more than ever not coming back sooner.

“Gotta get to sleep before the sun rises. Fuck, I’m tired.” He stepped away and slapped off the lights on his way to the hall. “You know where the bathroom is.”

I chuckled softly and went to stretch out on the sofa. Despite the sudden exchange of saliva just now, returning to my old habits of inviting myself to his bed was something else I vowed not to do again. He had allowed the door to open again, but I didn’t want to rush this time. We had both evolved into different people during the time apart. And I was truly fascinated to learn more about the day he chose to tie up his hair.

**Notes for the Chapter:**

> TY to user LizinaCan for her eyeballs on this chapter. I'm excited to start this next phase of Hank's life.


	10. A date??

“Were you watching me sleep?”

“Hm? Nah. Chair just happened to point that way,” Hank said. I was all limbs on his couch when I woke up; the ceiling fan paddled slowly above me providing a soft stream of air around the house.

_ Damn, it was gonna be a hot day_.

I watched him watching me. “You’re full of shit.”

“I swear! Ain’t watching you. Just thinkin’.”

I pushed myself up and flung an arm over the back of the cushions. “You wanna tell me what about?”

“No.”

I laughed and shook my head, then got up and stretched, my eyes automatically pulled towards Sumo’s empty corner. I paused and Hank noticed.

“I miss him, Al.”

I straightened up and went over to lean against the room divider so we could talk. “I know. I’m sorry.”

“You know I got him for Cole, I ever tell you that? Don’t think I ever told you. Don’t think I ever told Connor this story, either. Dunno why. Back around, uh, ‘32 or ‘33, when I was out on a case, hoarding situation. We found the owners dead and the daughter missing. Turns out she killed the parents cause she couldn’t get emancipated and the abuse was so bad. The girl barely had a bed to sleep on. But she left the dog. Thankfully he was smart enough to rip open whatever food wasn’t rotten and keep himself alive. It was the neighbors that heard the barking and finally called us in. Fowler wanted to call animal control. ‘_Fuck that_,’ I said. ‘_I’m taking this guy back to my boy _.' Yeah, they were buddies.” Hank drifted off and downed the rest of his coffee. He shot up with some new-found energy and offered to make breakfast. “What you eating these days? Eggs okay?”

I was taken aback and chuckled at this thrilling scenario. “Um, yeah, yeah eggs sound good, Hank, thank you. Hey, while you do that, would you mind if I take a quick shower? I’m feeling a little gross.”

“‘Course.”

It felt strange being back here. Not only the domesticity of it but to remember how it used to be, how Hank used to be only a few years ago. Breakfast? Bah! Cigarettes and whiskey and maybe a slice of toast was the old norm. Chinese food containers used to line the toilet tank but now... _ Is that fucking potpourri? _

I heard Hank yell from the kitchen, “Mind the mess, Al. Been trying to force myself to stay sane. Clean house, clean mind, and all that happy fucking bullshit Connor taught me. _ Fuck _.”

He muttered something else but I couldn’t make it out.

_What fucking mess_? _Let’s take inventory. Okay, one beer can on top of the trash. Two shirts hung at the end of the shower rod away from the hose, one pair of boxers that didn’t quite make it into the_ _hamper_, a_nd one small bottle of - _

“You fucking pervert,” I giggle-whispered to myself.

I stripped down and didn’t waste any more time admiring the change in scenery; I didn’t want those eggs to get cold, either. We had never made anything for each other before. This was going to be nice. Yeah, an actual fucking breakfast.

The nostalgia was tugging at me, tugging in a very inappropriate area and I quit the shower before I let it take over. I quickly dried off and redressed and padded back into the kitchen where Hank was already sitting with a plate, another next to him.

“Hey hey hey, I got a blowdryer. Use that shit and don’t get water all over the hardwood!”

Dried hair done, I was _finally _able to enjoy Hank’s basic cooking and god _damn _was it good.

“This something else Connor taught you?”

“What? Nah, come on, who doesn’t know how to make eggs. Been having a little more motivation recently. Not _recently_ recently, but in the grand scheme of things, yeah, been trying to stay away from the fast food. Connor was up my ass like a flag pole about my cholesterol when we first met. He can analyze everything, you know. He was a prototype, built to analyze all sorts of shit, which apparently includes food.”

“I'm glad. Thank you for this, Hank.”

“Yeah.”

After eating, I expressed my desire to head home. “I’m sure you have shit to do. Are you planning on heading back to the station soon?”

_Fact is, if I stayed any longer, I'd want to crash his chair right into the floor_.

“Mm. Might stop in quick later to check on Connor. It’s only been a week, if shit was blowing up, I’d go in immediately but I need a few days. And now, you know - I uh, _ fuck _.”

_Now, you know..._me.

“Hank, I - how about Wednesday evening? I can pick you up and we’ll do something? Is that too soon? I don’t...”

He looked at me in contemplation. “Nah. I need to get out. Come by whenever.”

I agreed and headed for the door. He trailed me a few paces before saying my name. “Thanks. For last night.”

“Hank…. I’m the one who should thank you. I don't know - I had myself convinced you wouldn't want to see me again. I was wrong. It was stupid. And I am so happy to see you’re doing okay now.”

“Yeah well, most of the week was shit. I think I scared Connor and Lana into thinking I was gonna blow my brains out. But really I think I was pissed off that I was so distracted.”

“What do you mean?”

He shrugged and tightened his robe belt. “You know what I mean, Al.”

My breath stuck again and I bit back my lip to stifle the little twang of pain in my eyes. He had been distracted knowing I was back in town and felt guilty for it instead of focusing on his loss. Maybe even angry that I wasn't there...

“It all should have gone so differently, Hank. I um, I need to get going, I need to… I’ll be back in a couple days, okay?”

We nodded our goodbyes and I took off to head home.

Hank fuckin’ Anderson with a clean house and homemade food, with a roommate and partner who cared for him, a social life out at community events and Lana’s bars, getting promoted to Captain on the force (I still couldn’t believe that one to save my life), and not completely losing his shit last night… Hank’s life had finally taken a turn into normalcy and maybe he’d let me be a part of that. _He would_. I wasn’t entirely keen on getting to know Connor and Lana immediately, I wanted time to become acclimated to this new Hank. I didn’t have anything against them really, but they had been pretty damn nosy that night at the bar. Yet it was all in good intention, I could see that now. But I think if anyone suggested a double date anytime soon, I would scream.

* * *

When Wednesday evening rolled around, about 7 pm, I walked down to Hank’s house and knocked on the door.

I heard him faintly beckon me in and I entered but he wasn’t anywhere to be seen. I followed the distant curses down the hall and to the bedroom where I peered around the frame to observe a mess of shirts on his bed. Graphic t-shirts, short-sleeve and long-sleeve button-downs, a blazer?? He hadn’t noticed as I watched him hunch down to the bottom of his closet and yell, “Just gimmie a fuckin’ minute!” Then softer, “Nothing fuckin’ fits and I-”

I couldn’t help but giggle, announcing my presence as the spy.

“Ah geez. Okay, you caught me. I didn’t know what we were doin’, but I wanted to wear something new and I don’t - what’re you doing?”

I had started picking through the discards on the bed and discovered a medium-blue linen dress shirt designed to have the sleeves rolled up. I shook out the wrinkles and presented it to him.

“Does this fit? It’s really nice.”

“You think?” He grabbed it and shooed me away. “I’m shy, wait out there.”

I stepped out into the hallway to lean against the wall out of sight of his doorway. “I saw a ton of files on your table, Hank. You go in?”

“Nah, Connor and Lana dropped by earlier to pretend to clean and he needed to pick some things up while staying at her place. I think they picked up on somethin’ but I didn’t say nothing. They’re too damn perceptive, it’s annoying.”

Hank came back out, patting himself down. _ Fuck, was he an attractive man. Think he even lost a little weight_. And for once he didn’t have a t-shirt on underneath. _ Well, fuck me blind with those forearms_.

“You’re drooling, Alex. Let’s go,” he said, brushing past me. He grabbed a jacket from the back of his sofa and ushered me out of the house.

“What are you thinkin'? For food. I don’t wanna hear yet any of the other shit you might be stirring up there. Ain’t ready for that.”

I gawked at the suggestion. “I would never! Okay, okay, a couple options. I was thinking of heading to the plaza. They have food carts all this week, all sorts of things. There’s also still music down at the amphitheater. We could hit that, too.”

“I’m down. You drivin’?”

“Oh, I walked here. I sold my car a few months back finally. But hey, don’t scowl at me! Gimmie the keys, I can drive.”

“Oh no, no one touches the wheel except me. You’re paying for dinner.”

* * *

Part of Jefferson Ave was shut down to traffic for the food trucks, nearly everything you could imagine. This was one aspect of human culture that thankfully remained in this city and was regaining popularity as people moved back in. There were plenty of androids accompanying their friends and newfound families and partners for the night. Hank and I quickly bee-lined to the first truck that caught our eye, a chicken and waffle stand.

Hank told me a story of just this past New Year’s when he and the other two had celebrated and how much Connor had enjoyed the human traditions. How Connor had his first kiss that night but Hank had to break through Lana's hesitancy. He just wanted the kid to be happy and _dammit_ it was going to happen because he needed some alone time again.

“Can’t believe it’s only gonna be August soon,” he said. “Feel like so much has happened this year.”

“Yeah? Tell me. What other shenanigans have you’ve been up to that would surprise me?”

He scoffed, nearly spitting up the last bite of food. “Ah, okay, let’s see. Snowball fight. Uh, karaoke on a public stage, yep, that painting class I mentioned, and the symphony, oh, then a damn dance class, don’t give me that look, I gave up real quick. That’s the big stuff, I think. Dunno, otherwise same old shit.”

We were heading past a few more trucks, determining what to partake in next as he continued to speak. “When I’m not at the station or the field, I’m at home. You know, before Connor met Lana, all last year was just the two of us and it was mostly work. Couple ball games. This whole year so far was a whirlwind with the two of them and just being home with the dog and the tv. _ Lots _more tv now that I’m not smashed all the time. I still have one or two but it’s not what it was, want you to know that. Gave up the smoking, too, all of that’s done.”

We grabbed a large container of loaded nachos and found a bench where we could imbibe.

“Tell me more about your friend, the woman.”

He raised an eyebrow as he shoved the refried beans and cheese in his face. “Not a lot, Alex, really. Met at that painting class, went out a few times for coffee, she’d come to the house maybe once since we met, just chat. Work and politics, that kinda shit. Haven’t seen her since the stupid dance class. She told me she liked me but I uh -” He waved his hand dismissively to complete the rest of the thought. “Didn’t see her like that. She was a nice lady, I had some nice times with her, but I couldn’t get over her being - ah, that makes me sound like a real prick. Her being an android, I can’t do it. Even if she was human I probably wouldn’t have.”

Deep down, I was feeling a tint of jealousy. Not just of Danielle, but of Connor and Lana, too. They had been there to see Hank’s transformation and haul him out of his comfort zone and go _live_. I wish I had seen that. But I was also so grateful to them for helping him and being his friends because it culminated in this night out where it was my turn to get to know Hank all over again.

He brushed his hands on his pants and stood to toss the garbage. “You wanna head to the theater? Not too late to catch some music.”

We drove a few minutes down the river to the amphitheater and sat out in the back lawn. There was still some invisible barrier between Hank and I. This desire to pick up where we left off and I know it wasn't just me, but the tension was already palpable. His eyes would linger a moment too long; a fractional silence when speaking that was drawn out only a microsecond more; making the conscious effort to not touch any part of my body as we walked and sat together. There was this _pull_ I know we both felt, some silent and steady click of the gears rotating back to something inevitable, one way or another.

He stretched out on the grass, kicking his foot to the tunes of the jazz bands as I sat up and people-watched in the settling darkness. The lights of the theater illuminated the musicians but didn’t spread out too far into the crowd; it was ethereal, this home-grown spectacle against the down and distraught citizens who merged into the looming night.

“Well, what the hell do my eyes spy, is that the Captain?”

Hank and I both turned our heads to the left and Hank grumbled a few choice words under his breath as he stood up to greet the man.

“Why you gotta bother me on my days off, Detective.”

“Hey, we’re like distant family now, Hank, gimmie a break.”

_ This must be Gavin_.

The man introduced himself and I returned the favor with a wave. He directed his attention back to Hank.

“You coming back to the office? Connor’s been great but we really need someone _meatier _in that chair. Woah, hey, sorry, all right, didn’t mean it like that, sorry, Captain. Seriously though, Connor told us all what happened, I’m sorry to hear. Really.”

Hank’s pursed-lip “Thank you” wasn’t entirely believable but it was an indication for the other man to leave.

“Little prick. He’s not as bad as he used to be, now I think he just does it for the laughs,” Hank said. He sat back down next to me, closer this time with arms slung over bent up knees.

“Yeah, he seemed like a bit of a dick. Is he new?”

“Eh, not really, been around for a few years. He was a real prick to Connor at the beginning, finally forced him out on leave cause he was being such a fuckin' cocksucker. But then after all that crap with Lana came out, Gavin softened up a bit 'cause he's her only family member and since she’s dating Connor, well, he’s not _ as _ much of a piece of shit as he used to be.”

“That’s good. Regardless, he still under-ranks you.”

“He’s just an ass. I don’t let it bother me anymore. He does a good job, nothing unethical, good reports.”

Hank had told me more about the Gavin and Lana mystery. A murdered grandfather with a fortune - this explained how Lana came to be a bar- and club-owner, and how Gavin had been their first suspect before an android turned herself in.

Hank laid back down. The music was dwindling and people were starting to empty out of the area as the sun had completely set and the river became illuminated by the refracted lights.

We talked a little more as people passed us. I told him about my stint in Niagara Falls, that even during all the upheavals and the revolutions, the border found a way to remain encouraging through music and light shows on the water (appropriately timed, of course.) He shared with me his trips to the record stores around the city with Connor, introducing the man to a variety of genres.

“I’ll never forget the day he was waiting at the station for me and went through my shit. And this was at the beginning when I wanted nothing to do with him. Wanted to toss him in a trash heap and set it on fire. And he asks me if I listened to _ Knights of the Black Death_. ‘You listen to heavy metal?’ I say. And he gave me some pre-written crap about not actually listening to it but he likes the energy. Hah, strange guy...”

He told me that they had been here once or twice last summer and Hank bemused that it would be a good place for all of us before the end of the season.

He caught his words and cleared his voice, “I mean if you want to come back and uh… yeah.”

“Yeah, this was nice. I’d like that." Those eyes again. "Well, it’s going to be tomorrow before we know it if we don’t start moving.”

“Can I treat you to a nightcap?”

“Okay.”

* * *

Returning to Hank’s house so late at night was a familiarity again wrought with deja vu. I had always been the one driving with him beside me snoring spit on the door handle. It felt like an entire lifetime ago in some faraway land where the river was flooded with whiskey and beer and condoms and yet, a perfectly sober man was behind the steering wheel, in a clean shirt, with brushed hair. _ God, I wanted to feel that hair. _Hank caught me staring as he pulled up to the garage door and released the smallest inhibited smile.

“What the hell you looking at?”

I scoffed. “Sorry! Geez, I just can’t get over this, Hank. It’s nice, seeing you like this. This was the best day I’ve had in a really _ really _long time. _ Fuck_, I’m just reminiscing a lot today.”

“You think you’re the only one? It’s fucking weird you being back all of a sudden, combine that with my dog dying, it’s been a crazy fucking week already but I’ve gotten used to crazy fucking shit happening and I’m a lot more open to it now. I’d still rather be home, and I’m ready to get back to work now, but will you _please _get your ass in the house? I gotta take a piss.”

He dashed to the bathroom as I looked over his massive bookshelf. Not too much had been moved around there from what I could remember, except one of the larger cubes housed his promotion photo from work. There was a smaller photo next to it of him, Connor, and Sumo right here in the living room. I put it back down as he emerged, confused for a split-second when he didn’t see me immediately, and then asked what I wanted to drink.

“Oh. I could go for my usual, thank you.”

I picked up a stray magnet clip from the floor to reapply to the fridge and then grabbed the tumbler when Hank offered it.

“Cheers.”

He took the end of the sofa this time and I the other; Hank slouched into the cushions while I propped up my feet on his coffee table. I couldn’t help but stare again at the empty space on the floor and recall how Sumo would lounge under my legs. I’d cry if I looked any more so I averted my gaze into my drink and the soft click of the ice cubes as they melted.

“So where are you living now? You said you were close, close enough to walk here.”

“Oh. You’ll laugh at this one. Yeah, swear to Christ, the cheapest apartment I could grab is over Eden Club. They converted an entire upper floor into low-rent gigs. Clientele didn’t go down enough for the place to close, so I get to fall asleep to that steady purple glow every night. But hey, it’s affordable and they like having humans live up there. Figure it helps people feel not as shady going in. I dunno.”

“You’re shitting me,” he said. “_Fuck _.” He proceeded to tell me about his case there, right after the night he wanted to kill himself and Connor tossed him in the shower.

“Only reason he kept me alive was 'cause he needed me to go on this case with him. He didn’t care otherwise. Not at that point anyway.”

“You don’t think he was already going deviant?”

“We’ve talked about it. He knew he wanted me alive but he still felt it was just his programming. He wasn’t allowed out on a case by himself, he needed an officer, and since I was his assigned officer… He broke my damn window to save me. You know, sometimes I wonder what would have happened that night if I was successful. What would Connor have done with Sumo? And then I think, I saved that dog from a shitpile house, he was my son’s dog, he woulda been alone if I killed myself. That fucks me up.”

“Was that the only time you tried to kill yourself?”

“Only time with a gun. Didn’t spin the right chamber, I guess. Hey, don’t get me wrong here, I’m glad it didn’t work. But at the time, well, I was pretty fed up.”

“I’m sorry.”

“Wasn’t your fault.”

We sat in silence for a while, growing more tired by the moment, he finished his glass before mine and sunk down deeper into the cushions. 

“Hank, you’re gonna fuck up your back like that, come lay down.”

With none of the hesitances that had marked our previous time together, he stretched out with his head on my thigh and legs half-bent. He closed his eyes and wrapped himself tightly into the cushions and my legs. I downed the remainder of my glass, gently dropping it to the floor before entwining my fingers through his hair, my other hand along his bicep. I pulled out the hair tie and looped it on my wrist so I could comb through the freed strands.

He was already lightly snoring and I continued to caress his arm and his scalp until my energy faded as well.

I regained consciousness at the sound of his grumbles, nearly indiscernible, slurred and muffled into the cushions.

‘_Dyouwannamove….Comeonhere….Comeonwidme’ _

But my still-half-asleep self acquiesced and we somehow maneuvered and he enveloped me tightly in those arms.

We must not have moved because when his tv turned itself on softly at 6 am, we were in the same position and I tugged his arms tighter against me. Unfortunately, that prompted him awake and he grumbled into my hair, “Can’t feel my arm.”

I didn’t want to let go, but I consented and let him tug himself free and sit up properly. I pulled myself back and stood to stretch so I could clumsily find the bathroom.

“Shit,” said Hank upon my return. “Was gonna go back today. I think Connor was going to stop by.”

“Oh. I’m sorry, I uh, I can leave. So you can get ready and head out.”

“Nah. Don’t you have work though?”

“Not until nine. What is this show?”

“Ah come on, you know Spongebob. Where they burn fires and drink tea underwater and the fucking squirrel needs a helmet?”

“Vaguely, yeah.”

We burnt an hour on these early-morning cartoons. Hank made coffee and bacon and eggs and tossed me a plate before I could refuse. At one point Hank received a text message that elicited a chuckle.

“Connor heard us laughing. He’s giving me the day off.”

“I’m glad.”

“Hey, here, gimme your number again. Never used it anyway and I mighta deleted it after a while.”

I took his phone and created myself as a contact. “Needed to anyway, it’s a new number. Here.”

“Look shit’s gonna be nuts for a while. I still suck at using this thing, but ya, you know, if you wanna… We can do something again.”

“I’d like that. And if you’re more comfortable, we can do something as a group.”

“You sure? I know they won’t say no, but the second they start asking anything personal, we leave.”

“No, I - I thought about it. I think it would be nice to go out as a group.”

“All right. Expect something soon then, I know the second I go back in, they’re gonna want to do something to make me feel better. Little pains in my ass can't even take a shit without Connor asking me about my digestion....”


	11. What are you gonna say to me

I didn't hear from Hank for a solid two and a half weeks, which was just as well because I had become equally busy at my own place of employment now that it would soon be fall. 

I was in the middle of setting volunteer schedules when my phone buzzed from an unknown number. It took me a second but I remembered that I hadn’t swapped Hank’s number to this new phone. _Could be him_.

“Hello?”

“Hello, Alex? It’s Connor. I’m calling from -

(“_Stop it!” _)

“- I’m calling from Hank’s phone. How are you?”

“I’m okay. Is Hank all right? What’s up?”

“Yes, he’s here - 

(“_SweartofuckI’mpullingyourpumpinyoursleep!” _)

“- and we would like to invite you to a concert in the park this coming weekend. It should be very fun.”

I leaned back in my chair and laughed to myself.

“Is there a reason Hank isn’t asking me himself?”

“One moment.”

I could tell that Connor tried to cover the receiver but didn’t quite succeed, as I could hear Hank’s indistinguishable grumbling out of earshot before he took back the phone for himself, indicated by the next voice in my ear.

“Hey, Al.”

“What’s going on over there, Hank?”

“Yeah, hey, look it’s gonna be a bunch of cops. Kinda after-party deal for a buddy’s retirement from the force. But of course Connor had to invite Lana so he wanted me to invite you. You don’t have ta if you don’t think you’re gonna-”

“No, I’ll come. That’s fine. Easy exit if I want to leave.”

I swore I heard Hank smile through the phone by the sound of his voice. “Yeah, that’s what I was thinking. All right, it’s gonna be back at that amphitheater off of Atwater. Look for the crowd of douchebags. Dunno what time we’ll be there, but show up whenever you want. Later.”

* * *

I had lost track of time, enjoying my space alone and the musicians on stage, so I wasn’t aware what time the ‘crowd of douchebags’ showed up but I did hear someone calling my name from across the lawn. I peered to my side over my sippy cup of a daiquiri and saw Lana jaunting towards me. I lifted the plastic in greeting, but internally my only thought was ‘_Dammit’_.

I quickly felt guilty when she greeted me and beckoned me over to where seemingly half of the DPD was partaking in a case of beer.

“Hey,” she said, stopping us several yards from the group. “You know, I’m sorry for being intrusive the other week, jumping on you with Connor like that. We’ve just been concerned for Hank. Hope it didn’t make things worse.”

“No, it’s been fine. I don’t know what he has or hasn’t said to you guys, I don’t-”

“Oh, not much of anything -”

I zoned out for a few moments as I stared over at the crowd. I could pick out at least four other android officers aside from Connor, but no Hank. I began to subconsciously walk, surveying the area for him.

“He’s getting a keg.”

I snapped out of my focus. “What?”

“Hank. He was getting a keg from the car. Should be back in a second.”

“The law’s loosened up, I see.”

“Hey, if you’re worried, he’s been really good, at least for as long as I’ve known him. Only recent time he was pretty wasted was the night he sang ‘_Thrift Shop _’ for karaoke. Oh yeah, that was a sight. I might even still have the security tape to show you sometime. Definitely was one of his better moods.”

As Lana spoke, I couldn’t get the sour taste from my mouth. The other night, Hank had told me the story she had reluctantly shared with them several months ago, not too long after they were all getting to know each other. How her brother had run away as a teenager and dealt Ice and how she, in making sure he was safe, joined him as a dealer for a short while before he was killed in an accident. How she had to hand over all the names of anyone she had known back in the day, the location of any old stashes. I had been familiar with the beginning of this history when we met on the thread, minus the part about she herself dealing. In the back of my mind, I was constantly wondering if my own sibling was a victim of any of those connections.

All in the past though, wasn’t it. They had seemed to forgive her transgressions, and I would not bring them up, but still, that thought would always remain.

I finally saw Hank trudge up with the keg, received by a round of applause. He greeted me with a distant nod which I returned with a short wave.

Lana laughed next to me. “There’s so much I wanna know about the two of you and I’ve got nothing. Hey, sorry, I won’t ask. Whatever bad ju-ju happened before is still between the two of you.”

“There wasn’t - there wasn’t ‘_bad ju-ju _’. I had to go away and take care of things. Then I got stuck and couldn’t make it back anyway. That’s all.”

Lana elicited a coy smile. “Yeah?”

I tossed my head back and laughed through my nose before looking past her towards the stage area. If I wanted to get to know Hank again, I realized I was going to need her help.

“Hank was a total wreck when we met. I’m sure you know the timeline there. His son died, he got a divorce, his disciplinary record was off the charts and he was trying to kill himself every day with the alcohol and smoking and other dangerous shit like not getting caught on DUIs. I finally had enough of seeing him leave the bar by himself and always come in just to pass out in the corner. I helped him get home, helped clean his house, and then it started evolving into something and I ...but then I had to leave. And it turns out he had taken my leaving harder than I thought. He’s so different now. So am I. I just...want to spend time with him again. _Fuck _, here I go reminiscing. I barely know you -”

That was a good place to end the short story as we noticed Hank approaching.

“Fuck you two doing. Oh god, you’re swapping dick stories, aren’t you. Shit. Come on and grab one before you say anything else to each other.”

“What is he-?”

“I’ll tell you later,” Lana said.

I hadn’t planned on it that evening, but since this was a retirement party and Hank was occupied with this department, I spent most of the time with Lana off to the side with Connor stepping in intermittently. They shared stories of their time together with Hank and his cases (most of which Hank had already shared with me but it was nice to hear Connor's side).

I had to ask before we got too deep into conversation. "What the _ fuck _ was he talking about - ‘_swapping dick stories’ _?” This was directed towards Lana.

“Oh, _ Lord_. I think it was one of the first times I slept over at their house and I was up early since Connor had to leave for work. So I decided to sleep in for a little bit more, and I get up to go steal their coffee, thinking that Hank had _also _gone into the station, but he’s walking down the hallway with this damn robe _wide open_. Everything in sight just _there_. Two of us freaked out but I’m secretly thinking Hank’s a little more of an exhibitionist than he lets on.”

“Sadly society still does not approve,” I heard Hank’s voice behind us. “What kinda shit are they telling you about me?”

“The juicy stuff, Hank,” I said. “How you are _ relentless _ with the dirty jokes and innuendos.”

“Please, I’m a fucking peach to live with." To Lana, he said, "You like the jokes and they will _continue _until this one -

(He pointed down at Connor)

“- either takes a vow of celibacy or you learn to do the dirty _ outside of my house _.”

“Does that include the car?” Connor asked.

“_Yes, that includes the car, Connor. _ No one gets to have sex in that vehicle except for _ me _.”

A furtive uncontrolled glace towards me and then, “_Fuck _.” He walked away at that point to join the rest of his officers.

“Is that something we can ask about?” Connor asked.

“No!”

An additional piece from their collection of Silly Hank Stories was the tale of the night Connor caught Hank jerking off in the Interrogation Room only a few weeks ago when he entered Observation to retrieve a file.

"Oh, it was very awkward," he said. "It was like...watching a car wreck. You can't look away until it's too late."

I buried my head under my arms to hide my laughter and too-wide smile at the thought of Hank doing a little _reminiscing_ upon my return.

After a solid minute in which they let me be embarrassed in secret, Connor asked why I left Detroit.

They would find out sooner or later. Might as well get it over with.

“I was a cutter... Used to do it a lot when I was a teenager, and then again after my brother overdosed back in ‘27. And then again after spending more time with Hank. Things were getting intense between us, I mean, it was _good_. It was something. But it kinda - we just had different ways of coping with our shit, ya know? He was disappointed, which really says something given how he was fucking himself up. I finally realized I needed some time away and checked myself into a clinic for a while. After that, I was up and down the coast of Erie helping with border crossings. That was most of the past two years. Just helping androids and seeing all that horror. That story's for another night, though. Or if Hank wants to fill you in, I told him most of it.”

“I’m sorry,” she said. “I’d love to hear more of that. I don’t think we ever talked about it online.”

“No, I never brought it up.”

“So are you two -”

I shrugged and gazed off again to watch him approach us. He flopped down on the grass very close to my other side, visibly _not _entirely sober and stretched out an arm behind me, fingers flitting down my lower back before falling to the grass. “So what the fuck kinda stories you all sharing, huh?”

“Pretty good ones. Something about the Interrogation Room?” I looked down at him with knowing eyes. He turned beet red.

He immediately yelled “Connor!” and got up to chase the adept android halfway down the block before tackling him into the sidewalk.

I laughed my ass off at the sight of the two of them, Connor very obviously throwing the resultant wrestling match to give Hank an ego boost.

I turned back to Lana once the men had settled their score. “I think I should actually get going if that’s all right,” I told her. “It’s been a long week and frankly I’m getting a bit of a headache, I’m sorry.”

“Okay, well I’m glad you came. This was fun getting to know you finally.”

“You, too.” I nodded and headed to the sidewalk to watch Hank and Connor approach.

“You going?” Hank asked. Connor paused as well.

“Yeah, just getting a little tired and headachey. I’m gonna call it a night.”

To Connor, Hank said, “Will you give us a couple minutes?”

“Of course,” said Connor. “Have a good night, Alex.”

I nodded at his departure and Hank walked us back a few paces so he could lean against a tree.

“You actually looked like you were enjoying yourself with the two of them. Don’t really appreciate the fact-exchange, but I guess the cat’s outta the bag.”

“Yeah, that one uh - brought back a nice memory, you know.”

Hank flushed again and he shoved his hands deep in pockets. “One of the better ones. Hey, well if you’re up for a next time, they already got a date planned next week for bowling. Then every other Friday we play stupid board games. You’re welcome to come over.”

“Yeah, I think that actually sounds really good.”

“Yeah? Hey,” he grabbed my wrist as I made to start walking.

With a languid tip of the head and a surreptitious glance from my lips to the tree, he gave a weak tug to pull me out of direct sight of the venue. In another moment, his fingers tilted up my chin and we came together in a deep breathy kiss, one no doubt partially spurred by the memory of that cold steel table in the station. I sighed any lingering tension into his touch. He was gentle and even in the middle of the public sidewalk, he wasn’t embarrassed. The setting sun assuredly helped in this; the less light available, the less chance his teammates way back on the lawn would see us from there. He tugged me in closer and finally broke the kiss so he could envelop me in a full-bodied hug. I know this was supposed to be a romantic moment under the tree but I felt that _twitch _and giggled lightly.

“Yeah yeah, I know,” he said. “You’ve still got that effect on me.” He broke his grasp so I could step back and giggle again with him, biting my lip at the impending fantasy I would have later.

“I’ll call you,” he said and pushed from the tree to head back.

* * *

Bowling night, the others got me talking about my work at the rehab clinic.

I explained to them that my work brought me individuals of all backgrounds but the majority of them were there as a result of job-loss and/or economic downturn. When the androids were freed, there was suddenly this monumental surge in the population. The displaced humans made a little bit of room, but it didn’t cut even. And also while not all of the freed androids stayed, there was now a new housing issue. The people that came into the center were still angry but they had no way of leaving, they were trapped in their situations.

As Hank listened to me speak, his gaze softened with pride, enraptured with my story. We hadn’t spoken about any of this since I’d been back so this was all news to him, as well.

As the androids built themselves new homes and found niche job skills, primarily construction and teaching to the best of my knowledge, people could slowly trickle back into the city. The restaurant industry had seen a boom of late, more diners and bars and brewpubs, craft beer was making a return.

So not only were all the clinics in the city going to be at full capacity for the foreseeable future, but crime was slowly making an upturn again as people wanted their jobs back.

This was an insurmountable issue in my mind, which was compounded with the longer lifespan of androids and easily replaceable parts.

I paused to apologize to Connor. “I hope I haven’t come across the wrong way.”

“Not at all, you’re not wrong. We're seeing a rise in hate crimes again, aren't we, Hank?”

"Yeah, I'm not looking forward to it. Think the Chief is talking to Markus again sometime soon. Dunno if I'll be pulled into that."

Connor was infuriatingly good at bowling, even when he tried not to be. It was an absolute riot to hear Hank insult his friend and poke fun at his romantic life.

“Come on, Connor, try not poking your fingers in all three holes. Maybe only one at a time, don’t need to be an overachiever.”

“Connor! For fucks’ sake, stop knocking so many of the pins down! Girls like it when they’re up! Up, Connor!”

“I swear to Christ, his posture is still too good. I feel inadequate just looking at him. Lana, will you please loosen a pin or something next time you’re down there?”

I stepped away to grab a little something to eat and decided to pause at one of the rear high tables so I could watch the three of them. In response to Hank's bowling innuendos directed towards Connor, Lana yelled, "Hank! This shit is EXACTLY why you need to get laid!"

I nearly spurt out my drink in laugher and half-assed apologized for listening in on their quips.

Connor's observation didn't help me keep my food down.

“I agree, Hank. Lana and I will stay at her place this week if you need alone time. Humans who have not experienced a sexual release in some time seem to have pent up emotions-”

“I release perfectly regularly, Connor!”

At the end of the evening, Hank offered to drive me home as the others had taken Lana's car. I consented and followed him out wordlessly to the parking lot where we waved goodnight to the other two. We didn't get into his car immediately, instead watching them drive off before I spoke.

"That was fun. I hadn't done anything like that in a while," I said.

"Yeah? Well, those two are always looking for new shit around the city. Like I said, I get dragged into it. So if you ever wanna...you know."

"There's a lot that I wanna do, Hank. But I can't help but feel like you're avoiding something. Do I still make you nervous?"

Hank leaned back against his car door doing his best to look at me squarely as he spoke.

"Yeah, you make me fuckin' nervous. Al, you left. And I don't want you to... I'm not mad about that. I'm glad you got some help. Glad you went out and saved some androids. But I, you know, I was _over _it. Hey, I'm really fuckin' glad you're back, okay? But I got all this shit churning around up here -" (he made a vague gesture towards his head) "- and I'm..._fuck. _Come here." He beckoned me closer with an outstretched hand. "Really don't feel like talking."

He uncrossed his ankles, permission for me to step in and accept a chaste kiss.

"Can you at least admit you kept checking out my ass in there? Then I'll be happy."

"I'm not admitting nothin'."

I giggled into another kiss as he tugged me closer by the waist, building intensity in the empty lot under buzzing and flickering out-dated streetlamps and zapped moths. We were like teenagers after a football game. _Score one for Hank_.

"We really never made out on top of your car before?"

"Mmm, nah, always inside. Don't wanna risk denting it."

His hands traveled along and held my waist, hips, lower back to bring me flush between his legs against the car. We must have stayed like this for five, ten minutes maybe, slow, methodical, and hands never straying far from torsos. My breath hitched for a beat when his fingers accidentally brushed my skin just under the hem of my tank. He adjusted the fabric but still kept pressure, both of us making very concerted efforts not to stray from each other's lips.

Hank fucked up first by trailing his mouth down my neck to exposed clavicle and I gripped his shirt tighter. He broke off for a second before sucking the wind from my lungs once more.

I ruined the moment by giggling at the feel of his semi against my thigh. I tauntingly _barely_ pressed forward to indicate its presence, eliciting a low annoyed groan from the man.

"Yeah, yeah, another reminder, I get it. _Fuck_," he breathed. "Old habits, huh."

I stepped back, allowing him to straighten up and brush past me to enter on the driver's side, not so subtly adjusting himself before he could sit.

"Keep your hands to yourself, all right? Gonna be uncomfortable enough driving home. _Geez - zus_."

* * *

The following Friday night I walked to his house; they must have seen me approach because the door was open before I even had a chance to knock.

"Hello, Alex."

I chuckled through my nose. "Hi, Connor. Thanks for the reminder," I said as I entered. 'Hank's' text message was a little too grammatically correct to not have been typed by Connor. And at the time I received it, I had to laugh that Hank had forgotten to tell me exactly when to show up.

Upon my entrance, he stood from the kitchen table and apologized for this, running a hand down the back of his scalp. "Yeah, hey, sorry, I thought I told you. Memory's gone to shit."

_Nervous. I knew it._

We partook in a very heated game of Monopoly that night which ended in Hank trying to shove the wheelbarrow up Connor’s nose after enduring a papercut from a property exchange. Lana was doused in paper money though I ultimately relished my near-win with ownership of the greens and blues.

Connor insisted on sanitizing all the pieces, however, due to their unfortunate temporary vacation in Hank’s boxer shorts, which was done purely out of spite for the rest of us the second he realized he was broke.

The entire night I couldn’t stop laughing; I was _so _happy to see Hank loose. He had changed _so much _and I was already looking forward to the next get-together as a foursome.

These past two events were also highlighted by light ‘accidental’ touches between the two of us, capstoned by the make-out session in the parking lot.

He graced me with light touches to my lower back when I sat next to him on the hard plastic benches during bowling or his sofa (Connor was on the floor and Lana the lumpy chair). Too-long draws from his Slushie straw gave him brain freeze and I laughed my ass off, completely destroying his futile attempt at seduction. For the Friday game night, he wore the same shirt I picked out for him the evening we explored the food trucks. _ This fucking bastard. He’s doing it on purpose. _

_ ...He’s doing it on purpose. _

Mostly I was experiencing a tad too much _pressure _and did my best to ignore the uncontrollable _pulses_. Hank was failing as well, obvious by his inability to control his eyeballs whenever I stood up.

Over the course of the game, Hank, Lana, and I went through several beers but stopped after 3 or 4 apiece. During one highly tense roll of the dice in which Hank ended up in jail for the fifth time _("Fucking_ _cocksucker_!"), Connor picked up an empty can Lana had placed next to him, and was holding it. Examining it?

"What's the matter?" I asked him.

"Oh. Well, I was always curious about something."

"Yeah, Connor, what's that?" Hank asked, not entirely interested given his recent humiliation.

"Well, I've heard the term 'beer can' in reference to a man's penis. And I'm curious."

"Connor-" Lana tried to interject.

"You wanna measure yourself, Connor?" Hank perked up. "All right, seeing as everyone here's already seen mine, there's no shame left."

"Hank! No!" Lana protested through a fit of laughter. "Don't you dare! Don't you dare, Connor!"

"Oh I wouldn't mind seeing this," I said to her under my breath.

She was still protesting from the chair as Hank stood. He told Connor to get up as well, promptly swiping the can from his friend's hand. Both men, with zero hesitation and completely straight expressions, unzipped their pants and revealed their glory.

I felt like I was watching a comedy show on mute with Hank holding the can between them, comparing against it, Connor enraptured with the explanation. And no doubt my eyes were immediately drawn to Hank and thoughts of kneeling before him, but Connor - well that was a sight. That was...very nice. I could understand now why he and Lana were always going at it.

"Have the two of you really never compared before?" I asked.

"What? No, course we never - fuck kinda question is that?" Hank retorted. I didn't quite believe him.

At the end of the Monopoly game, long after pants had been re-zipped and the cans thrown in the garbage so as to not tempt the men into another match, I took my leave to the bathroom for a few minutes. The other two spoke to Hank as soon as I was out of earshot.

They weren’t doing a very good job of keeping their voices hushed.

The first to speak was Lana. “Hank, you could cut the sexual tension in this room with a steak-knife. I am about to _choke _on how thick the air is here. Go back to her place and get it on already, Jesus Christ!”

“Woah! Hey! This is my house! Why don’t you two leave and you can go choke on something else!”

“Maybe I will!”

I couldn't make out if she said anything else but Hank was trying to get them to leave.

“I’m not talking about this with the two of you. No! Connor, don’t you dare open your mouth, I don’t want to hear it, go!”

“Fine! But the next time we see you, there better be hickeys allll up over _that_.”

"Out!"

When I emerged from the bathroom and back into the living space, Hank was just shutting the front door. He rolled his head when he noticed me.

“_Shit _.”

At first, I had to laugh. “They’re not wrong, you know,” I said. “Maybe we just - you know - we get it out of the way.”

“‘Get it out of the way?’ Yeah, that’s _ really _ romantic.” He gathered the pizza box to toss in the garbage in the kitchen. I halted him with a touch to his arm.

“What would be romantic then? What are you thinking?”

“Ain’t gonna tell you that.”

“No? So you’ve thought about this?”

He brushed past me again to finish cleaning up the game and stash it on the bookshelf. He spoke as he did so. “Maybe. You think I don’t think about it? I think about it constantly. Wanna do something nice with you. Wanna go back to - to doing _that _with you. But we’re gonna do it right this time.” He paused at the shelf and ran a hand through his hair in contemplation. “Do you remember way back, when you were being so fucking pushy, I said I was afraid of you? And all that shit you had said to me after, I remember feeling that you were right. But you were also right to end it before we destroyed each other. So I just wanna do this in the right steps at the right time cause I - _ fuck _, I'm not good at this stuff. Been way too long.”

"Hank, when we met, that was the worst period of your life. I even remember we met before you were ever divorced, it must have been just after the accident and I was only doing my job serving you. We got to know each other through horrible things happening and horrible ways of coping and - you didn’t have the bandwidth for anything else in your life. You were always filled with hesitancies.” 

"Yeah, well, shit's changed."

"It really has. Never thought I'd see the day you were comparing penis sizes with an android, and yet here we are!"

Laughing with him over this incident, I really didn't want to leave but it wasn't my place yet to overstay my welcome.

"Hey, will you drive me home?"

I just wanted those extra few minutes with him in silence and replay the last few hours in my head.

\---

He parked half up on the curb right off of Woodward and put on his hazards. We could barely hear the _thump thump _music from inside the Club.

“Thank you. I know I could have walked but this was nice.” I was about to pull on the door latch when he told me to wait.

“Al. I, uh - I know what I just said back at the house, but I wanna ask you, cause God knows Connor will be up my ass about it and will probably ask you for me if I don’t. The gala is coming up, annual policemen’s ball charity event shit. Didn’t happen last year cause of, well, everything, but we’re doing it again this year, which means I gotta show up and rent a tux and shit and give a speech, probably a couple of 'em, and a presentation, and _dance_. And of course, Connor’s gonna ask his girl and if I go -”

“Hank. Shut the fuck up, you’re rambling. Yes, I’ll come with you. I’d love to be your plus one and grab your ass in public. I’ll even buy a really nice dress with the absolute zero dollars I have saved up and blow everyone away with exposed cleavage because how can the Captain’s guest look like total shit? Maybe I’ll just borrow a dress from the gals over here,” I said, tossing a thumb to Eden.

He gave me that look, that look I always wanted to kiss right off his face, the slightly confused, recoiling, but very remotely turned on look, very similar to the ones he’d give me way back when I first confessed I found him attractive.

“I can give you my card…”

“I’ll be fine! I’ll figure something out. I would _love _to join you, Hank. And worrying if something like this is too soon, well, I am curious how you’re going to introduce me, but you have time to find the right term. ‘_Ex-rehab bitch’ _ is one option. '_Chick who held my hair back when I puked_.' Or better yet, ‘_Girl I used to pork in the parking lot _’ -”

“Hey hey hey, maybe not so explicit. You’re right, yeah, way to make this really fucking awkward, Alex.”

“Well, we both know that was always my specialty.” I turned in the seat to reach out and run my fingertips through his hair before taking his hand from his lap. “Like I said, timing has been shit. But it really means a lot you’re asking me to come.”

“It’s not like you’re a total stranger, they did ask about you after the show.”

“Yeah? What’d you say then?”

“The truth. Old friend who was off helping save androids along the northeast border. They’ll wanna hear about that.”

“Okay. Yeah, that’ll be nice. Don’t think I’ve worn a dress since high school prom.” I got out the car and bent down and before slamming the door shut, I added, just to make his skin crawl: “Never fucked in one either now that I think about it.”

**Notes for the Chapter:**

> Chapter title credit: Missio, 'I don't give a...', _Loner_,2017.)


	12. Happy Birthday, Hank..

**Notes for the Chapter:**

> Trying to tie my stories together. I SWEAR Hanky's getting his Panky soon. Next chapter is gonna be super long. Thanks for reading!

The following week I got a text from another mystery number (turned out to be Lana) giving me the address of a specialty dress shop around Greektown which was the unofficial-official rental store of city galas.

When I arrived, the employee (a human!) asked for my name. I gave it to her and she went back to grab a list from under the front desk.

“I’m going with Hank, Hank Anderson. D-do you need to know that?” I felt so uncomfortable standing in this doorway, there was no fucking way I could afford any of the pieces I spied in the background.

“Yup, got you both right here. Will this be on his bill?”

_I am gonna owe this man something fierce_.

“Yeah, yeah it will be.” He obviously had known about this procedure and called in. _ Thanks for telling me! _

“You can come in now.”

“Right.”

I was immediately met by another employee this time (android) who offered to take me to a back room and pull a small selection to try on.

Within ten minutes my brain was wracked and I had _no _idea what looked good on me. I’ve never worn anything like this in my life and my nerves were beginning to take over.

I was all ripped jeans and t-shirts and bomber jackets, not… _ lace _or _satin _or things made in..._ Italy?? _

_ Fuck. _

“Would you mind if I invite a friend to help out. I don’t know if she’s available, but if she is -”

“Sure thing, darling.” The android employee seemed offended that I would need further help. Truly, she had been amazing so far at finding the precise correct fit and some very flattering cuts, but I needed another opinion. I swallowed my pride and texted Lana back.

About twenty minutes later, we were between two final choices and Lana was very adamant that Hank would enjoy either of them.

“Sorry! But isn’t that why you asked me here? Help you figure out which one you’re gonna bone Hank in finally? Don’t give me ‘_pshhhhh_,’ okay, this entire thing’s making him really nervous, too. Yeah, don’t think the boys don’t talk about us, 'cause they _do_. Connor’s turned into a total pervert under that roof and Hank is _mush _about this whole ordeal. You wouldn't think it, but the silent stoicism with the anger and the dirty comments, that’s all just built up tension that needs to be released because I _ cannot _take him making fun of Connor and me anymore. So for the love of Christ, buy the one you’re wearing right now and fuck his brains out for me? Please?”

We looked at each other with noted sincerity before laughing our asses off in the pristine silent shop.

“Has he really been talking about this?” I asked.

“Well, not to me, I haven’t been over there recently. But the little that Connor’s passed on, Hank’s nervous. Connor insisted they go tux shopping over the weekend, I didn’t hear from him for _hours_. And it wasn't because Connor was having a problem picking out a suit! He said Hank’s distracted at home but he’s also got a lot of work to catch up on. They’re working really late nights and some tough cases and of course since Hank does run the place, he’s up to his eyeballs in assignments and political red tape and you know the whole, enforcing new laws _thing_. He needed the time off but he’s making up for it now.”

I felt my face redden at the thought of Hank getting flustered over the gala and my joining him. Still wavering but a contrast to the stern and consumed man he was before. I could only _imagine_ how that shopping must have gone with Connor.

_'Too tight on my balls, Connor! Loosen that shit up!'_

_'Just pick a fucking lapel style, I don't fucking care already.'_

_'Ties? What ties? I haven't worn a fuckin' tie since my wedding.'_

I giggled internally at the imagery before turning back to Lana to ask another question.

“Do you think that if I wasn’t here, would he be taking his friend? The android woman?”

I could tell she wasn’t sure how to respond at first. “Probably. Hey, I’m not saying that to make you feel bad. It took me some convincing too, but they really are just friends. I’m not sure you’d get along though, no offense, but she’s very uh….proper. This tall prim older woman, closer to his age. Well, appearance-wise. Really nice and sweet, reminds me of my old teachers back in elementary school. Nice lady. Only seen her a handful of times since they met but definitely not lately.”

I looked back at myself in the mirror; this really was a gorgeous dress. Deep blue, cap sleeve, ruffle-accent at the thigh, ending with a subtly flared floor-length mermaid skirt.

“Can I ask you something now?”

“Okay,” I said, turning back around.

“What’re you doing for his birthday? We were thinking of a little something quiet at the house but if you want him to yourself, we won’t interfere.”

_ Birthday? Oh God, I forgot - when the fuck was his birthday_._ Last time around he didn't even mention it to me until weeks after the fact_.

“You forgot, didn’t you,” she laughed. “Frankly, I wouldn’t even remember my own if it wasn’t for Connor being a walking talking dictionary. It’s the sixth, next week. The day before the gala. I’m guessing by the look on your face you didn’t realize that either. Hank has _ got _to start writing himself sticky notes!”

“These weeks are going by way too fast. I feel like I just got here yesterday. That we just talked yesterday, and next week is his birthday?”

“Oh yeah. Connor’s been reminding me _ incessantly_; he wants to plan something special this year, but he wanted your permission.”

“Oh. Actually I think you should go on with planning something, I’m sure he’d really like that.”

“You’re invited too, obviously.”

I smiled weakly. I was ashamed I hadn’t even thought of this, I was so damn nervous about this event and everything was just happening so quickly now, I felt like I couldn’t take a breath. Coming back to the city where Hank had established himself a new life and I was trying to find a way to get to know this man all over again but alone time simply wasn’t happening. But again, in a way this wasn’t the worst, I had enjoyed the few get-togethers so far. Less pressure perhaps, but also I was able to experience him through the eyes of his friends and colleagues, to see him in social situations which I couldn’t have imagined three-plus years ago. So yes, I concluded, this would be good for me. For us.

“Okay, but that means you’re going to have to put up with one more night of sexual tension, Lana. Get out that steak knife.”

* * *

I came up with the absolute perfect - if not also the most depressing - birthday present for Hank. It wasn’t appropriate to wrap in nice paper with a pretty ribbon, so I tucked it in my purse.

When I knocked on the door, Connor let me in. “Hank is in the bathroom. Unfortunately, he’s not feeling very well. I'm sorry, we should have let you know."

“Probably just nervous stomach about tomorrow,” Lana chided.

I set my things aside and went to lightly knock on the bathroom door.

“Whatda want,” he groaned.

“It’s me.”

“Ah fuck. Fine.”

To my relief, he wasn’t sitting on the toilet, but rather hunched in front of it, both hands crumpled in his hair. I closed the door behind me and went to sit on the edge of the bathtub.

"Happy birthday. This is familiar, isn’t it?”

“Yeah, ‘cept this time I think it’s just food poisoning. Sorry to disappoint you.”

“Is it just out of one end?”

“Oh yeah, you missed the first half.”

“Sorry I was late then! You know I always did enjoy wiping your ass.”

"Ha. Ha." He slowly collapsed back on his hands, blessing me with that not-so-amused sideways grimace. "When did you do that?"

"You don't remember the rolls of paper towel, the boxes of Immodium, menthol wipes, the -" I broke to laugh at his confusion and then the realization that I was a big fucking liar.

"You're making shit up, Al. I woulda remembered that," he said.

He craned to stare up at the ceiling. “Bad idea,” he said, immediately shooting forward to upchuck.

I kept his hair out of his face during this, lightly rubbing his back between bursts that only lasted an intermittent fifteen minutes at worst. I grabbed a fresh towel, wet it under the sink, and helped wipe his face down from the sick and the sweat. He managed to sit back again and I grabbed a comb I had spied on top of one of the cabinet units, running it through his hair, before loosely tying it back into a short ponytail.

“Thanks,” he muttered. “Hey, can you grab me a clean shirt?”

I slipped into the hall and into his bedroom, eyes flitting over the bed before I refocused and grabbed another t-shirt from his closet. Back in the bathroom, he had stripped off the sweaty one and was now brushing his teeth. I set the shirt atop the small organizer and was about to turn back out when he asked for me to wait through garbled toothpaste and spit.

“One sec,” he said.

I did my best to avert my eyes as all I wanted to do at this moment was run my hands over that chest tattoo and press myself against -

“Al,” he said. “Thanks.”

He snapped me back to reality as he put on the new shirt, a very small sly smile snuck out of one corner of his mouth. He kissed my cheek sloppily and then asked me to _ fuckin’ move_. He exited and I trailed and the other two snapped up from the sofa to clap.

“I give up…” Hank muttered. This must be a common occurrence, I thought. Connor and Lana adjusted themselves and as I stepped over to join them, they pulled out their gifts for the birthday boy, who was currently gulping down water and popping medicine.

“I’m fucking beat guys. We do this and I’m going to bed.” He looked at me and added, “Sorry you had to come out here just for that.”

“Don’t be. It was a nice trip down memory lane.”

I wasn’t being (entirely) sarcastic and I hoped he noted it as such. He pushed to sit between Connor and me on the sofa and kicked up his legs to disturb the card game between the other two. (“Whoops.”) It was nice to feel him flush against me.

They presented their gifts first; Connor’s was a custom cross-stitch he made with the phrase, ‘_Behold! The field in which I grow my fucks. Lay thine eyes upon it and thou shalt see that it is barren.’ _

Next was a vintage pint glass of the Spongebob character, Mr. Krabs. _ They did sound alike. _

“Oh God, mine is not going to be nearly as lighthearted, I’m sorry. They helped me with this though, Hank. I hope - well we hope it’s all right.”

I took out the bubble-wrapped item and handed it to Hank. In a separated picture frame, we consolidated the photo of Hank, Connor, and Sumo, an inked print of Sumo’s paw which Connor was able to retrieve from the veterinarian, and his collar and tags, squished under the glass.

He didn’t respond immediately and I was so scared suddenly he’d break down again. Instead, he took a deep inhale, tightened his grip on the frame, and thanked us. “This is nice. Thank you.”

“Maybe we can hang it in the hall?” Connor offered.

“Hm. I’ll think about it.”

_ I missed that dog_. _ Why did we have to come up with such a depressing gift_? But it was a nice collection and Hank was appreciative, even if he couldn’t show us that outwardly.

His face contorted then and he muttered, “_Oh fuck _,” before handing over the frame to Connor and scrambled up to reach the bathroom again.

“Should I - ?” Connor asked.

“No, I’ll go check on him.”

Returning to the bathroom door, I laid my head against the door itself first, but I didn’t hear sounds of splashing or vomiting. I pushed it open slowly, craning my head in, before entering completely and softly closed it again behind me.

Hank was sitting against the wall between the sink and the bathtub. I went to join him, pushing the trashcan out of the way to make room for myself.

With heads back and extended legs, we sat in silence for a few minutes as I held his thigh and thumbed at his jeans’ seam.

“Hank,” I finally said.

_ Grunt._

“Would you like me to kick them out?”

_ Grunt_. And then, “Yeah. Would you mind? God, I feel like fucking shit. Hey -” he cleared his voice, possibly to push down some lingering vomit - “Thank you. It was a nice thought. And uh, maybe if I hadn’t already puked my brains out, I wouldn’t be such a fucking mess right now. Just gotta get to sleep.”

“Okay.” I pushed up. He grabbed my hand on the way and gave a weak squeeze_. _

I found the other two talking at the kitchen table. They stopped when I reappeared.

"How is he?" Connor asked.

"I think he just needs some peace and quiet. Told him I'd kick you out. I'm going to get home as well. I think he just wants the house alone tonight."

I lingered and let them leave first. I honestly had every initial intention of following them out, but that old habit of hanging around kicked in and I wavered.

"_Goddammit," _ I whispered to myself. I turned back to the bathroom and heard that Hank wasn't done. From the kitchen, I poured a full glass of water and brought it to the man now stretched out spread-eagle on the tiled floor.


	13. My baby does the hanky panky

**Notes for the Chapter:**

> Tee hee.

He peered at me and mumbled a '_Thanks' _as I set the water on the floor to his side. I knelt behind him, silently getting him to obey my wishes to prop up and cradle his head on my knees, very carefully helping him to hydrate as well.

This was too reminiscent of our times together on this floor three years ago; typically the aftermath would be met with more curses and glares and reluctant cuddling with stiff arms and his morning wood that heaven _forbid _ I pointed out for fear of being driven from his property at the end of a pitchfork!

He must have felt me chuckle to myself and with whatever energy he could muster from behind closed eyes, teasingly asked if I was laughing at him. "How _ dare _ you, Al."

"You really wanna know?" I ran my fingers through his hair and along his scalp and I could feel him relax under my touch. "Way back when I first started just bringing you inside and cleaning up and making sure you were okay and you'd always tell me to fuck off and even after we actually did start _fucking_ during those weeks, you were still, I dunno, _ lost_. But you never actually asked me to go. You know what I think?"

_ Grunt_. "If you say what I think you're gonna say I'm gonna puke again. Just lemme lay here."

"Okay, Hank."

He was able to relax again from being sick and took down a couple more glasses of water over the following half-hour. I finally helped him back to the spot of wall where I had joined him just earlier this evening.

"Can I help you get to bed?"

_ Grunt_.

"I'm taking that as a 'yes.' Come on. Up." I took his hand and tugged him from the floor where he wavered for a moment.

"Hank, you sure this is just food poisoning? Are you on any meds or - "

"Nah, just getting old, Al." He paused, making sure there was nothing left to throw up. "All right."

He allowed me to lead him by the hand to his bedroom where I reluctantly relinquished. He plopped himself down on the bed face-first, groaning into his duvet.

"Are you going to be okay?" I asked.

"Ugh, yeah," he said, flipping himself to his back and repositioning to lean against the headboard to look at me properly. "I spent my entire damn birthday working and feeling like shit and this here's the best part."

My breath caught for a split-second considering the intention of those words. Was this snarky asshole Hank or new soft romantic Hank? His eyes and twitchy foot agreed with the latter. There was a pull in my lower gut that _had _to wait. _ Not now_.

"Why do you say that?"

He replied with a gentle shrug but I knew. I strode over to the other side of the bed and sat on the edge near his shins.

"Ah fuck," he teased. "What're you smiling at?"

"I think you finally confessed that you like spending time with me. I also really want to kiss you but you should probably brush your teeth again."

He groaned and to my laughter, he rolled off and went to the bathroom to do so before returning to sit flush at my side. "Better," he sighed. "And by the way, that wasn't the first time I actually, ya know, _ said _anything to you. You don't remember? _ Geez_, I thought I was the one with the bad memory."

I sighed in embarrassment. _ Way to fuck that one up_. "First time we fucked, you said you wanted me here."

"Yeah, and all the times you were a pain in my dick but I still held onto you. When you did that shit to yourself and I kept my mouth shut. Still wanted you here. Always did. Still do."

_"Hank Anderson wants me._ Huh. That has a nice ring to it. I want you, too." It was cruel of me to taunt him while he still suffered from a delicate constitution.

He sighed out his frustration and changed the topic by asking if I would stay the night. "Just to sleep, Al, making that clear, I'm about to pass the fuck out but uh..."

I acquiesced and gave up on the tease. "Okay. Do you want me here or out there?"

His raised eyebrows and contemplative slightly parted mouth invited salacious thoughts, but instead of invading his space, I pat his thigh and stood. "How about you just get to sleep and I'll surprise you."

I left to turn off all the lights in his house, made sure any trash from before was cleaned up, and padded back to his now-dark bedroom.

In the silence, I stripped from my pants, removed my bra, and stretched out next to him atop the bedding. He didn't stir. All his energy had been flushed in the toilet and he was already asleep. Carefully, I curled into him, and wIth another grunt, he loosened an arm and enveloped my back, both of us wondering how tomorrow would go and where we'd end up at the end of the evening.

* * *

That following night, the night of the gala, I was just about to finish my makeup when I got a text from Hank’s phone that he was outside.

The previous night I had stayed only long enough to make sure he wouldn't get sick in his sleep and left a note on his fridge.

_ Do you still have those socks? _

Unlocking the gate, I didn’t recognize any of the cars against the curb and was confused for a split second when I didn’t see Hank, either.

“Hey,” he said. He was pushing off of the side of the building to my right and stomped out half a cigarette on the sidewalk. _ Fuck, was he handsome in uniform_. Solid black, those belts and gear. Hair combed through and tied back neatly. I think he even trimmed his beard a smidge.

“Holy fuck," he said as he gave me a once-over. "Al... Oh, uh sorry about that-," (a slight nod at the squished butt on the concrete) "- I’m just a real fucking sweaty wreck right now.”

Knowing what that mouth was capable of, I was a little jealous of the cig. Nostalgia tugged at my gut as well. I didn't mind the smoke.

“That's okay, I have the A/C on. Will you just come back up for a minute? I'm sorry, I'm almost done. Are you feeling better?”

He followed a few paces back as we went up the stairwell. I was slow in this dress and tried my best not to let the hem touch the grimy floors. I could feel his eyes on my ass and glanced back once to see him snap his gaze away.

“Yeah, just had to give my stomach a rest and try not to scream at anyone in the station today. Think I sweat through a few shirts though, it’s been damn hot.”

I opened the door to my unit and led him inside. "Here, sit wherever, I'm sorry, it's a really small place."

I locked the door behind him and paused for a moment to give him a brief tour. Tiny kitchen, tv set with a loveseat sofa, twin bed against the wall overlooking the alleyway. "Pretty sure that's where you guys chased those androids, isn't it?"

I returned to the bathroom and my struggle with eyeliner and shaky hands.

“Hey uh, you know I never saw your previous place, you know back when we were uh -”

“Yeah, wasn’t much more impressive than this, believe me. Didn’t think you cared anyway.”

Hank must have heard me curse under my breath because he came to lean just inside the doorway with crossed arms.

"You okay in here?"

I paused to hold the sink and laugh. "No, God, Hank, I am so fucking nervous about this. I've never been to anything like this and you're going to have all your colleagues and your superiors and all their wives and girlfriends and you're _ Captain _ and then Connor and his fuckin' rich accomplished girlfriend and I - I'm not - I don't even - "

I don't know what I was trying to say. I suddenly felt inferior.

Hank called me out on this. "Hey, the fuck are you blabbering about? If you don't wanna go, you can stay home. Fuck everyone else, you think you're not accomplished? I want you with me, Al, wanna show you off to these fuckers. You put your life on the line for two years, you probably even lost count how many lives you saved, and don't forget about your own. And ya know, you're one of the main reasons I kept waking up in the mornings. Mighta drowned in my own puke if you weren't there busting my nuts."

I laughed a little at his last sentence, but my eyes burned and I had to stifle the desire to cry at his words. "Hank...I - you're right... thank you. I think I'm worried about just...I don't know, talking to all of them, introducing myself. _ 'Oh hello, how do you know Captain Anderson?' 'Oh yes, I was his bartender when he was trying to kill himself and we fucked in the PD parking lot a few times, and by the way, I was in an institution - _"

"Alex."

"I'm sorry," I sighed. Hank had just confessed something without even realizing it, without meaning to, and I had to go and make a mockery of his encouragement. _ 'I want you with me.' _ How could I deny that?

"Have you done that again recently?" he asked, eyes flicking to legs.

"No. _ No_. I wanted to. When I was getting dressed, I... I had to take a few minutes and refocus, you know? But _ no_, I promise."

"Okay. Hey, look when we get there if you need some time alone, it's all right."

I reached out to give his forearm a light squeeze in thanks. I resumed, finally finishing up with the eyeliner and mascara, readjusted any loose strands of hair, smoothed down my dress, and asked Hank if he approved.

"Hm? Oh, yeah, sorry I was distracted."

"Yeah? Good. Glad I went with this one then. I need to find my shoes and we'll get out of here."

* * *

As he drove, my thoughts went in every direction. How much of a chore it was going to be to free him from that equipment, how long this event was going to be, and if I remembered to bring pain killers for my feet.

We didn't speak much in the car and I tried my best to quell my nervousness. I took a deep breath to calm myself -

"Hank, are you wearing cologne?"

_ Grunt_. "Maybe. Why? Is it too strong? I fuckin' _ told _ Connor I didn't wanna -"

"No no no," I laughed, "I like it. It's subtle, but it's nice."

He flashed his eyes over with a small upturn of his lips. "Thanks."

The gala took place at The Westin Book Cadillac which was thankfully only a short drive from either of our homes. Originally opening in the 1920s, it was the tallest hotel of its time, absolutely gorgeous having undergone several renovations, but untouched since the android revolution.

Hank reluctantly gave his car over to the valet and shoved the slip in his pocket. Only a small crowd of other officers had arrived already; I had to presume they were all going to be speakers, including Hank. He excused himself upon entry to go mingle with his superiors. I beelined for the refreshments and grabbed a light beer and bottle of water. I saw Connor enter and watched him find Hank in the growing crowd with Lana trailing.

I took a deep breath and figured it was time to be the dutiful _plus one _this evening. When I approached, Hank pulled me in with a hand around my shoulder and introduced me by just my first name to this group of other officers and their wives.

“You wanna know what she was up to last year? Android border crossings. Entire damn southern coast of Lake Erie.”

“Which, at the time, was all _very _illegal so I’m not sure I should be getting into that, _ Captain,_” I said.

I realized I was still double-fisting my drinks and awkwardly set both down behind me on a table so I could shake hands, resuming with the beer and then the water as they asked further questions about my experiences.

“Oh, it was certainly scary at the time. And I fully admit, it was - it was strange to me, the deviancy. They scared me. But the more time I spent with them, hearing their stories, helping them, the more I learned. I’m glad they have their freedoms now. I know that has come with an entirely new array of problems, certainly homelessness and employment are still huge problems here and from what I’ve experienced recently, I think they’ve gotten even worse.”

I regaled them with a quick summary of the full story I had told Hank at Riverside upon our reunion, my confidence quickly returning at the sight of their awe-struck mouths.

We were called to find our assigned seating where I was also introduced to Hank’s old boss, Jeffrey Fowler, a name which I had heard Hank curse innumerable times before. The men were amicable now and it seemed that this was the first time Fowler had seen Hank since taking over the position.

The evening was pleasant enough, filled to the brim with statistical presentations and speeches and applause and all the ranks congratulating each other on the past two-plus years. Well deserved, surely, as this city saw the first android revolution and came to work very closely with Markus in the aftermath. Hank and Connor’s vital contributions to the current state of this city were not lost on the crowd and both received ovations towards the end of the session. Hank even stole the mic back at one point to personally thank Connor in front of the entire Detroit police force for opening his eyes to android deviancy, for saving his life on more than one occasion ('_Twelve, to be exact.’ ‘Okay, don’t have to rub it in, Connor,’) _ and for just being a fucking good friend. (_‘Whoops, okay, sorry, forgot this was being recorded _.’) Connor beamed with such pride across from me, it was impossible to believe those weren’t real tears welling in his eyes.

Between speeches and presentations came dinner and dessert, followed by a migration to the ballroom.

Hank gave me his arm for accompaniment and we fell in with the others. As tired as I was, my mood had picked up immensely over the course of the night. I was so proud of this man.

He offered me another drink on the way out. I had to refuse.

“One more and I’ll be pulling you into the bathroom over there,” I whispered up into his ear.

He tried to hide his smile and rising blush by running a hand down his face. “Yeah, that uh - that should probably wait 'til we get home.”

We reunited with Connor and Lana in the other room but Hank pulled away momentarily to chat with others. I took the opportunity to excuse myself and use the ladies’.

I needed the quiet and I desperately needed a breather. I wasn’t used to these kinds of social engagements; this was a whole different level of excitement and interaction than what I had to deal with when running up and down I-90 from '38 to '39. I was so uncomfortable and growing increasingly tired and was at the point I would have loved to be able to teleport home.

_ ‘Wait 'til we get home_,’ Hank had just said. If he’s insinuating what I think he was finally insinuating, then _thank. Fucking. God_.

I don’t know if it was the kiss from the amphitheater or the parking lot that did it, or perhaps some secret conversations he was having with the other two, but Hank had been unraveling around me in some final and assured admittance that it was time.

Drunken, exhausted, and sometimes slightly high sex had been fantastic, but even these occasions recently where we snuck kisses out of sight of the others…it was different. He was welcoming this again, slowly and steadily, but it was good, unabashed, laced with desire to consume each other again but not _be consumed, _not to only go to each other as an escape. I was confident we wouldn’t fall back into those habits. We didn’t need to.

I couldn’t find him at first when I reentered the large, very dark, and very loud ballroom. But then I heard him, just in time.

“Oh fuck. Oh, fuck no,” I clamped my hands over my mouth when I saw Hank up on a small stage at the front of the room. He did not have the voice for this kind of song and he knew it.

“_You are my fire _

_ The one desire _

_ Believe when I say _

_ I want it that way _”

I wound my way to the front of the room, trying to catch Hank’s eye as I moved up but between butchering the majority of the song lyrics, downing another beer while screaming - 

_ “Tell me why _

_ Ain't nothin' but a heartache _

_ Tell me why _

_ Ain't nothin' but a mistake” _

\- and the majority of the officers in his age range singing along at full volume, he was thoroughly distracted, completely amused with himself, and was soaking up the laughter and applause.

He finally noticed I was right in front of him and reached out a hand to indicate I needed to scramble onto the stage. I was assisted by two younger men and swiveled myself around and up without tearing my dress.

Hank held the mic out to the audience for the last screaming lyric, took my face in his empty hand, and pushed the wind out of me with a heavy smiling kiss.

He released, blue eyes flaring, and still holding me by the waist, we both quickly bowed before he helped me off the side stairs.

The next performer was already taking the stage to loud cheering. I cast back a quick glance to see who it was. _ Gavin? And Connor? Someone that looked like Connor. Our Connor had a blue shirt, not white... _

"What the hell was that?" I laughed to Hank's back as I trailed him to the doors. We stepped out into the hall for Hank to find water, eventually finding a patch of wall with a high table to rest against for a few.

"Did I embarrass you?"

"Oh fuck no, that was great. 55-year-old man singing the Backstreet Boys, never thought I'd see it. They told me your voice wasn't horrible. But I don't remember ever hearing you _sing_, Hank. It was more like strangled grunting from what I remember."

"Hey, they were big when I was young, all right. That song's a _ classic_."

"Oh trust me, I'm not complaining. Woulda fucked you right there on stage if I could've."

He sputtered up his water, granting me a coy flustered smile after he dried off his beard.

"Can't be talking like that here, Al."

"No? Why? Are your pants too tight? You got me all hot and bothered, Captain." Making sure no one else was within earshot, I added on a softer note, "You know, I didn't get with anyone else after you, I didn't want to. Not that there was time anyway but... I don't know. If it wasn't you telling me to fuck off every five minutes, it wouldn't have felt right," I said. A tease again, but it wasn't without truth.

He downed the rest of his water and chewed on a thought before he spoke. "Was _that_ your turn-on?"

"One of many. Come on," I said with a hand to his forearm. "We should go back to the others before I list the rest."

I stayed at Hank’s side for most of the remaining night. Connor and Lana came and went and we must have misplaced our drinks at least twice as we went from cocktail table to cocktail table so Hank could reunite with, and introduce me to, more officers he had worked with over the years.

I did have a brief and very telling conversation with Connor's girl in the middle of it all. The guys had disappeared into the crowd on the other side of the room which gave us a moment to exchange thoughts.

"Oh for the love of Christ please tell me you're gonna do it after this," Lana begged. She wasn't entirely sober. "Sorry, sorry, but you, God, you give him the same look I give Connor and it's so frustrating."

"What is?"

"Al, I really wanna be friends, so can I tell you something?" Without giving me a chance to reply, she continued, "I love Connor. And we'll probably go bang it out in the hotel here soon, but I can't get myself to _ say _ it."

"Are you afraid he still judges you?" I asked this without hesitation. It may have come across as more biting than intended because she reeled back an inch from the table.

"What do you - did Hank tell you everything about me? I...maybe that's it. Maybe. That was such a nightmare for a while, but maybe you're right."

I shrugged. "I don't think you have anything to worry about. He seems like a really good guy and the few times I've hung around you two now...he definitely feels the same. Lana, I was around a lot of androids in pain for two years, I saw them go through every emotion known to man, so believe me, Connor is an android in love."

After about ten karaoke songs, the DJ took over; this exchange between stage and floor would book the remaining three hours.

With a squeeze to Hank’s forearm, I nodded that I was going to get some air in the hallway, praying he’d take the hint. The ballroom was getting a bit rancid and most of the officers had already discarded their things at a secure coat-check just down the hall. About 20 seconds later, Hank wordlessly followed me out and down the long conference room hallway and around a corner to a much quieter - and empty - area.

As he turned the corner, I snatched his wrist and tugged. He immediately complied, grabbed my arms, pinned me to the wall, and mashed his open mouth to mine. Even with heels, this didn’t give me much advantage and he had to strain down slightly. We tried to be quiet but I really didn't give a shit at the moment. I was desperate now. Our little session in the parking lot held me over, but it was time. I held to his belt and dared to run a few fingers over his groin, spreading to a full palm and _squeezed_. _ There you are_. He grunted my name in a forced exhale, mouth traveling down my neck, hands on the wall to either side of me.

“Fuck you trying to do to me.”

“Hoping I can convince you to leave early.”

“I’ll see what I can do.” He kissed me again, nearly taking me with him as he tried to free himself in a step back.

He readjusted his shirt, allowing me to help smooth it back down, fixed his hair tie, and started off back down the hall. “Come on, I’ll give you the valet slip. Get the car and I’ll be out in a few.”

* * *

We were silent in the car and I kept my hands to myself but the tension was so palpable now I hadn’t even realized we were bumping up his driveway all of ten minutes later. I still didn’t say anything as I followed him into the house where we discarded our shoes at the doorway and he dropped his gear on the sofa.

"Wait here," he said. He rounded the corner to his room and I took position leaning back against the room-divider.

_Okay, so maybe I was trying to sneak a peek down the hallway_.

He emerged a couple minutes later sans uniform jacket, wearing one of his old t-shirts I recognized that clashed with his slacks.

I laughed internally at this persistent _ ‘Couldn’t give a fuck’ _ ideology. Although frankly, it was always a turn-on: the old shirts from college, worn-out stained hoodies, socks with holes in the toe, loud button-downs. Articles I wanted to strip off after that first night we ever spent quality time together. The same night Sumo gave me his approval. The night I kissed an incredibly reluctant - and then aroused - Hank for the first time.

He immediately got himself a drink, shot back half, placed it on the kitchen table, and met me with hungry eyes and a fierce kiss, punctuated by hitched breaths and slow gentle returns. Light fingertips graced my cheek and I paused for a moment.

“Don’t do this unless you’re ready. You know how I get,” I whispered.

“A royal pain in my ass?" he asked, trailing his lips down my neck.

I giggled and tucked a couple fingers of each hand under his waistband. “Yes.”

Would this be like times before, ending in a mess of sheets, cigarette smoke, and Hank's sweaty ass under my armpit on the floor? I wasn't opposed to romantic vanilla intimacy but after these past weeks of sideways glances and chaste lips, I was ready and more than curious to _know _ Hank's intentions, in the biblical sense of the word. This hesitancy born of our reunion was one out of cautious optimism, hope, and nostalgia and I whispered his name in a plea.

I tugged at his belt, an indicator to return that mouth to mine. I wanted this divider to rattle. I inhaled the woody cologne he must have borrowed from his roommate, tasting whiskey and the smoke he had snuck when I wasn't looking and a faint lingering touch of butter on his lips from all those damn dinner rolls he had inhaled. His hands trailed to my waist, one curling around my lower back to pull me away from my support, fingers flexing with each breath.

He pulled back just enough to observe, eyes flitting over each possibility of where to kiss next.

“Come on,” I said, making the decision for him with a push to his chest. I grabbed his wrist and spun him around to follow me down the hall. I had to lift the hem of this damn dress all night so I wouldn’t trip and it was even harder now without the heels on.

I dropped his hand and paused just inside his bedroom. I pulled my hair to one side. “Help me,” I said.

“_Fuck _.”

He obeyed, fumbling at first to find the tiny-ass zipper.

“Why the _ fuck _ are women’s dresses always _so damn _HARD. Got it! Nasty fucker.”

Even with his success, he took his time and muttered another _ fuck _when he realized I hadn’t worn a bra all night, emphasized by a flat palm and fingertips running down my spine, triggering a wave of goosebumps over my exposed skin. My breath hitched with the motion, my arousal more annoying by the second as he slipped down the rest of the dress for me. With a tap against my calves, he bade me step out so he could hang it up on a closet doorknob.

“Hey, don’t want it getting wrinkled, that shit’s impossible -”

I shut him off by turning around and reached out with one hand to trail my fingers down his chest.

“Look at you,” he whispered. He was focused on my thighs first.

“Yeah, look at me. Nothing to be angry about now, I’m all healed up, I promise.”

“Hey,” he shot his gaze back up to mine. “Wasn’t ever angry, Al. Just wished you hadn’t felt like you needed to.”

“We both had our ways of coping, Hank.”

“What is this? You didn’t tell me about this,” he said, turning grave. He held my hip and flitted a thumb over a scar just a couple inches above my panty-line.

I held my hand over his as he continued to rub the skin.

I hadn’t really planned on conveying this story tonight but after seeing the bullet graze wound, of course he would ask.

“It was early last year. We were supposed to pick up two androids from a house in Bradford, PA. It was quite a detour from my usual route. The human family had gone away for the weekend, took two androids with them, left the other two. So we get there, but it turns out that that morning, the eldest son decided to stay back since he was sick with the flu. Last minute change to plans. And the guy I was traveling with, he wanted to turn back but I figured, you know, come on, we can hear this guy puking from the downstairs hallway, let’s just grab them and go. The one android knew who we were and why we were there, but the child, you know I don’t know much about the child models, I thought they were supposed to be fairly complacent, but this kid was a pain in the ass. She insisted on saying goodbye to her _big brother_. And it turned into a mess from that moment. I went up after her, and he musta heard us cause he comes out with a .45, hits my partner in the shoulder, hits me, and then kills the girl anyway. I stopped giving a shit at that point and tackled him right into the wall and then we just bolted out of there.

“Oh, don’t give me that look. I thought of you that night, I thought of calling up the station and bragging about this. I was so brash by that point. Took another one to my shoulder.”

I turned around to indicate another graze along my upper right shoulder blade. Hank had only a second to touch that one before I turned around again.

“They were worth it, though. I’m sure you understand.”

“Why didn’t you tell me this in the park?”

“Hm. Cause I knew we’d get to talking about it like this. Now do you mind if we get back to it?” Ignoring his concerned demeanor, I urged him back to resume our kiss from the living room. After a moment, his fingers finally curled against my skin, lingering at my waist despite all the territory before him. 

I held to his sides lightly at first, inching up his shirt with each steady and exploratory kiss until he took the hint and detached momentarily to throw it aside.

I paused to splay my hands on that tattoo and graying chest fuzz, and then over that old scar and bullet wound, up his sides, over his pecs, just in awe that I had this man in front of me again, that I could admire him again. I broke my gaze back up, indicative he should resume the kiss.

_ Those damn pants_.

Trying our best not to break contact while picking up intensity, we fumbled with his damn belt, whipping it off to the floor before I took the honors of the button and fly. Pants were off in another moment - those Christmas socks included which had me giggling at the sight - and I finally treated myself to a very full squeeze and a couple strokes through his underwear.

Hank groaned into the kiss and I cut off any more curses with a tug on his lower lip, pulling him back to collapse on this bed. He crawled over me as I pushed back towards the wall, never breaking eye contact.

Hands and lips ran gently up and down my sides and stomach, marking every inch of my skin as if this was the first time. He went as far down as my belly, taunting me by kissing my hip bones, before beginning his final ascent to my breasts. His mouth clamped on to one, tongue tracing circles, sucking, nibbling before alternating to the other and massaging the one he just abused with firm squeezes.

I cautiously pulled out that hairtie and tossed it to the floor so I could thread my fingers through his hair, gently pressing the back of his head as permission to bite.

My breasts were thoroughly marked and reddened when he lifted up to capture my mouth and I was _finally _able to adjust my legs and pin him between my thighs. We picked up a rhythm so I could start that upward grind.

“_Hank_,” I groaned into his mouth. "_Fuck me_._ Please _ .” I released an arm from his back, reached down under that elastic, and _squeezed_. He nearly gagged on my tongue at the pull, grumbling my name as he drew a harsh breath, but still allowed me to continue. He was already dripping, his cock thick and so fucking warm in my palm. His own hand traveled down my front, my stomach, delving under the last article of clothing to finger me with two _very _talented digits. I struggled to release the kiss and clamped down to bite his shoulder. His breath was heavy in my ear until he released his hand, pushed mine aside as well, and inched back to slip down my underwear, studiously observing what he was revealing. He tossed those to the floor and I bent my knees back up in dire hope to feel that tongue. He gently pushed them down and aside with flat palms, his lips traced where his fingers had trailed from hip to inner thigh, then the scars... _ what a tease _... he detached completely to stand and tug off his briefs and I weakly smiled at the sight of his erection spring free._ Fuck I missed that sight_.

"Come here," I sighed. Kneeling, he settled between my legs and with a pleading nod from me as permission (_Of course you have permission, you fucking fart _ ) nestled his dick exactly where it should be and _pressed_. I groaned at the initial push and I reached out for him, begging him to fall back into full-bodied contact. He captured my mouth once more as he pressed deeper, slowly, so excruciatingly slowly, running a full palm up my side to cup my face and brush a thumb over my lower lip. Nearly three years since we had this. We needed it. _ Now_. He picked up pace as it was too painful to wait any longer and I tossed a hand back against the headboard to brace myself as he thrust, _finally_ finding that brutal rhythm we had established the first time around. He held my gaze but we each couldn't maintain a tilted smile for more than a half-second as the air was laid thick with guttural outbursts and breathy moans and we pushed back at each other, picking up with each press.

“_Hank. Please_,” I begged again. I was _aching_. “_Hank_,” I whimpered. He perched on his forearms on either side of my head, squeezing his eyes shut, slack-jawed and panting. I reached down to grab his ass, digging my fingers in with each thrust.

“Alex,” he sputtered, “I gotta - ”

I nodded fervently and he hastened again, gasping into my ear, fingers curled painfully into my breast as he came. _ “Fuck. Geezus_,” he exhaled. I squeezed my legs tight but they had turned to jelly. He took my mouth in a mismatched kiss, managed one more lazy thrust before he slowly pulled out, eliciting another _ “Fuck _” from us both.

_ He was gonna need a new bedspread_.

He sloppily kissed my cheek between slowly lingering breaths and rolled to his side of the bed. I couldn’t move. My legs were numb and I already knew I’d be feeling that for the next day. _ Thank God it was the weekend_.

Hank covered his eyes with his right forearm. I managed to fumble for his other hand to hold between us. He squeezed once and I looked over to watch him uncover his closed eyes, sniff, and press his fingers to the bridge of his nose.

“Hank…” I rolled over and pushed up just enough so I could reach out and run my fingers down his jaw. “Hey…” He was holding back. I repeated myself.

“Fucking embarrassing,” he grunted through another sniff.

“No, no. Hey.” I pulled his hand from his nose and held it to his chest, shifting over to be able to look at him properly.

He feigned a smile and craned up for a kiss before collapsing back into the pillow. “How about a shower, huh. My ass is gonna be stuck to the sheets in a minute.”

I laughed and pushed away, nearly buckling as I tried to stand.

"Jesus Christ," I laughed. He came around the bed and grabbed my hand to help me to the bathroom. I started the shower and used the toilet as he pissed into the streaming water. We got in together, the hot water and steam already lulling us into a deeper state of exhaustion. We took turns with the wash until Hank leaned against the tile and stood, allowing me to hold him from behind until he was ready to speak.

**Notes for the Chapter:**

> Okay so obvs I have no idea how galas are run, but I've been to a few sales meetings and just drew from how those went  
Chapter title credit: Barry, Jeff, and Greenwich, Ellis. "Hanky Panky." 1963.  
Hank's karaoke song: The Backstreet Boys. "I Want It That Way." _Millennium._ 1999.


	14. Do you still love me like you used to

I didn’t say anything to him and we stayed like this, one of his hands loosely thumbing my forearm. I knew why he wanted to cry. It had been two months now since Sumo’s passing and then this whirlwind of my return disturbed his grief and upset his new routine and peaceful mind he had been developing over the past two years with the help of the others. And tonight… this was the total opposite of how we used to be. We’d drink, fuck, and sleep, and it was never anything more than _ fucking _. Not really. Some latent cuddling perhaps that didn’t entirely bewilder him, but always marked with those hesitancies. Back then it was a distraction, a release from the world.

But the pace he set tonight, that literal slow concentrated, focused, attentive, loving pace - 

_Is that what was on his mind now?_

Hank had softened up and turned into a romantic, I could see that just from being told the stories about trying the painting and dancing classes (_okay, he didn’t _ do _ anything during the latter but at least he _ went) and the symphony with his friend (_that was a date, let’s not kid ourselves _ .) He had cleaned up and straightened his hair and had new clothes (_I really did love that shirt on him from our game night and I wanted him to put it back on just so I could take it off. _ ) He fuckin’ _ sang _in front of a crowd of his peers and subordinates and higher-ranking officers tonight, finalized by a kiss on stage, without giving even half a flying fuck. To announce to every single officer in the city that we were together...

And though he had yet again been the one to call the shots on the pace of whatever this was between us, he had also broken that time table.

I kissed his back which stirred him from whatever thoughts were causing the storm in his brain.

“Tell me.”

He reached down to shut off the water and turned to face me, pulling me in for a deep embrace.

“I’m sorry,” he said.

"Nothing to be sorry for, but your mind's elsewhere. I don’t - I don’t want you regretting this.”

His face turned stern, stoic, thoughtful. “Fuck no, I don’t...that’s not it at all.”

He stepped out to gather towels for us both, tossing one at me from the shelf. I did my best to dry my hair before wrapping up.

“You miss Sumo.” When he didn’t reply, I knew that’s what was weighing on him. And how could it not? Emotions and grief were funny things, especially after intimacy. An unexpected pounding of mental bullshit, no pun intended.

“I miss him, too. There were some nights he'd join us in bed, long after you passed out, he'd lay up against me like he was trying to push us together.”

"Yeah. Told ya he knew something when I didn't... Just keep thinking how happy he woulda been having you back. He was fine with the other two but there was really some next level of approval when you were around. Woulda been nice.” He squeezed between his eyes again and leaned back on the sink.

“He was a good boy, Hank. He was very good,” I said.

“Think I fucking cried for four days straight that week. Connor had to pry me away from him for burial after the first day. Cried into the liquor cabinet for the remainder. Then I caught myself every time my mind started wandering, wondering if you knew somehow and then…” he trailed off. “I swear if this happens every time we’re together now, I’m gonna throw myself off a bridge.”

I smiled weakly. “As long as I can come with. Hank, even if it does, it’s okay. It’s going to hurt for a long time. He was family. It’s okay.”

His eyes welled but he still cracked a smile at me.

"Hey, did you, uh - you didn't -" He tossed a nod back towards the bedroom.

"No, not quite. Are you offering again?"

"Maybe."

"Come _on. _" I pushed him out of the bathroom, discarding my towel in the doorway, and then stepped around him to take position again on his bed.

"_Woah_," I heard him mutter. "You, uh... okay then."

Fingers of both hands spread me as he nestled that tongue - _ fuck that goddamn tongue I missed his tongue _ \- deep in my folds flicking and swirling in patterns, cognizant of exactly _where _to focus based on my spinal undulations. He held my legs open tight as I shuttered and cursed; I groped for his arms and at least one hand to hold as he was _unrelenting_. Given my lingering arousal from just before, the man had me coming in less than 60 seconds and I was so fucking _ wet_, my expulsions wound through his beard upon ascent. I tugged him towards me by the back of his neck, not giving him time to wipe off. I wanted to taste him, taste me on him.

"That good, huh," he said.

"You sure you haven't been practicing?" 

"Oh, I didn't tell you about our weekly orgies?"

"Hank!"

He held to me tight, head in my chest, and arms wrapped under my back.

"Can I tell you a secret? You remember that day when I paid my brother's bail? I'll never forget that look you gave us. I also remember thinking how handsome you were."

He unwound to push up and stretch out next to me. "_'Were'_? Thirty pounds lighter and clean-shaven, that what you want?"

"Oh, fuck no, don't you dare ever shave that off."

"Yeah? Why not."

"Because it won't feel as good."

I didn't think Hank could have flushed a deeper shade of red than he already had from his exertions and yet I could have sworn another blush rose to his cheeks.

However, in the following second, he cursed and it took me a moment to realize it was due to his cell ringing from atop his dresser.

"Do you need to -"

"Yeah," he said, rolling off the bed. "If it's this late, it's probably Connor with an emergency."

I pushed up to hold onto my legs and watch.

After a quick exchange of _ "Connor, what the fuck...is everyone okay? Okay, kid, okay, I'll be right there," _Hank scrambled to find clothing.

"Musta missed his first call. Stay here, Al."

"O-okay…"

I watched him dress haphazardly and resigned against asking what had occurred, instead getting up to help him dig fresh briefs from his dresser.

Could be anything these days but that call, no...this was going to be bad. I had never seen him this concerned in relation to his job. But that was before. Now he actually gave more than two damns.

I received a messy kiss to the forehead and a muttered '_Fuck _' as he rushed from the bedroom.

_ Shit. _

* * *

"Do you remember what I told you about Connor's girl?" Hank had me on the phone early the next morning from the station.

"Vaguely."

I knew that her grandfather had died and left an inheritance. I knew that when she was younger she had to help her brother deal Red Ice for a time so she could watch out for him. I knew that the only guy they hadn't gotten their hands on during Hank's time with the Task Force was an ex-fling who showed up not too long ago looking for his money. A debt that Lana's brother had owed before he was killed.

"Fucker and one of his goons robbed her bars last night while we were all at the gala. Shithead was still at one of ‘em when Connor and she stopped by on the way back to her place. She uh, he shot her. Twice."

"_Jesus fuck, _ Hank. Is she okay? Are they all right?"

I could tell Hank was holding back a quell of anger. His voice was tight, restrained, he was probably furious. He hesitated with his next words.

"Yeah, but…"

"Hank."

"Well uh, Connor, he was pretty beat up after I got there. Tried to figure out how to replace some of the lost thirium. Fuckin' kind of captain I am, can't even give him a damn blue blood transfusion." He sighed and gave a very weak nervous laugh through the phone. He cleared his throat and continued. "Had to call up Cyberlife. Dunno if they're just gonna replace parts or the whole body. He shut down. We had some close calls over the past few years but he was always careful. Dunno how this fucker got over on him. Didn’t have time to tell me."

"Shit," I sighed. "I'm sorry, Hank. You must be worried sick about him."

"Yeah, it was...I never saw him like that before. It was fucked up, Al. Really fucked up."

His concern and frustration were palpable through the silence, I could just barely hear him breathing.

"Hank? Hey, I'm still at your house. Can I drop by and bring you anything?"

If there was anything I could do while he waited... I was afraid he would revert into a state of destructive grief.

He didn't answer immediately. I heard indistinguishable muttering in the background before he returned to the phone.

"Sure. Gonna be here a while. Thanks."

We hung up and I stretched, running my hands down my legs a little too firmly.

_ Don't. Don't. _

* * *

I couldn't deny that my legs were still a little tired from last night and I smiled like a total inconsiderate jackass at the memories as I walked up 3rd with a large coffee and stereotypical box of variable donuts that morning.

_ Sad face. Come on, you're really good at being sad and fucked up_.

And I _ was_. I hadn't known Connor and Lana for very long but my heart broke for them both and especially for Hank. He didn't need any more tragedy in his life. Connor was his best friend, pseudo-adopted son, roommate, partner. And by extension, Lana was family, too, however conflicted Hank may have felt over the months. Connor loved her and he loved Connor. He was broken up and my heart was with him.

But still.

_ Fuckin' Hank Anderson and that damn mouth_.

The receptionist had me wait while she buzzed Hank who greeted me in the lobby just a few minutes after. 

Had he run? He was a little out of breath and looked like hell. Eyes worn and bloodshot. He must not have slept. He ran his hands through his untied hair and managed a weak smile in greeting. 

"Hey. You doing okay?" I asked.

"Had worse days."

He nodded at the women at the front desk and bade I follow him through the security door and through the bullpen up to his office. A few heads turned at my arrival but no one lingered.

_ Busy day_.

After the door shut behind me and I set the drink and food on what little empty patch of desk I could find and shrugged off my bag, Hank flipped the lock on the door which frosted over the glass enclosure.

Before I could get a word out or comment on his office space, he pulled me in for a quick fierce kiss and a tight hug. If this was any other day and any other circumstance, I’d reel him back to fuck on the desk. This office could be new territory. And I assumed that frosted glass also meant better sound-proofing…

I held to his back and we stood in silence for a while before he released and collapsed in his chair.

“Can’t take this shit, Al. Just one fuckin’ thing after another, I swear. Why can’t I catch a break and go on vacation. Fuckin’ Christ.”

I took a seat opposite and propped up a leg on which to rest my elbow. “Then take one, Hank. Didn’t you tell me Lana had some house up on the lake? Take her key and head up.”

“Nah, no fuckin’ time. Anyway once Connor is released from Cyberlife, I’m gonna tell him to take a leave of absence so he can take her up there. Case is too personal for him, he doesn’t need to get overloaded once he’s fixed up. Pretty open and shut. Look, I’m uh, I’m sorry I didn’t let you know sooner what happened. Been worried sick about the two of them. Didn’t need you seeing me like that again, Al.”

“Oh, for fuck’s sake, Hank. You know I would have been here in a heartbeat. That’s such an excuse. Just tell me you wanted to be alone. It won’t hurt my feelings.”

I had seen, heard, felt, and unfortunately even tasted every disgusting aspect of Hank’s alcoholism the first time around. There wasn’t any need for censorship.

“All right. I got drunk after I got back here and I should have texted you instead. Shoulda just...shoulda just gone back home but I was too nervous. Wanted to write this bastard up and get him off to County. Now I’m waiting to hear from Connor. _ Fuck _, Alex, why’s it always gotta be such shit timing with you and me? Why’s this shit keep happening to people I know?”

I unfolded myself from the chair and circled around to sit on the edge of his desk in front of him, precariously perching my feet up on his armrests and wheeled him in closer. I leaned forward to tuck some of that wild hair back.

“I don’t know, Hank. The universe has a really fucked up sense of humor. You know if this was three years ago, we’d already be naked on the floor. And while I am _ slightly _ disappointed, I’m also very oddly proud of you.”

He snickered at that statement and ran his hands along my calves, eyes not at all subtly focused on my open legs in front of him before he switched his gaze back up to my face when he spoke: “Yeah, you’re right. _ Shit_, last night, Alex, you looked...really damn beautiful. Never told you. And after... _ fuck _ , I missed that. God_damn, _ I missed that with you. ”

“You’re going to get me all flustered again, Captain, and we can’t have that going on here, can we?” I strained forward for a kiss and dared to run a few fingers along the denim between his legs.

I almost lost my balance and laughed when he pushed back his chair. I regained my footing and stood to lean against his desk with crossed arms, biting back my lip to stifle further laugher.

Once more, Hank was gracing me with that look of aroused revulsion that softened to stifled amusement and a shaking head.

“You should get going. Otherwise, I’ll have to write myself up for inappropriate behavior and I already got the past set of records expunged.”

"Well before that, here, I brought you a change of clothes."

I propped my bag up on the chair and pulled out a couple clean balled up shirts for him to layer and set them atop the donut box.

"You don't have a comb here, do you."

"Fuck no. Well, might be in my locker. Why, what're you doing?"

"Trying to help you look at least a _ little _ professional." I stepped around to the back of his chair. "I like this look for you."

I proceeded to run my fingers through the best I could to straighten and tidy up those strands. I had grabbed the discarded hair tie from last night before I left this morning and wound it through.

I bent down to wrap my arms around him and whispered, "Maybe next time I'm here we can check out Interrogation again."

I nipped his ear and stepped back around as he rubbed his fingers over his lips, biting back whatever salacious thoughts I just planted in his head.

“I’ve got work today. It’s the weekend, but they always need help. Let me know how Connor is when you hear something.”

Again composed, he said, “Should be later today. Hopefully. Dunno what all that takes. Hey, thanks for coming over.”

* * *

As Hank had suggested, once Connor was back in perfect working condition, he and Lana spent the remainder of the season up at her house on the lake, finally leaving Hank and I alone to well… be alone.

It’s been five years since I initially met Hank, when his smudged fingerprints left fresh traces of death and horror on those filled glass tumblers. How many refills he imbibed in that first night escaped me, for we lost track with each subsequent pour. Night after night I served with no question, slowly watching his eyes darken and shadows burrow fresh trails along his skin. He had been so maddening and so infuriatingly resistant to my touch until the night he finally snapped and each following night for the remainder of that year we weren’t without some type of imbibing satisfaction.

There were still parts of his home - and car - we hadn’t blessed. Each kiss and exhale formerly initiated from whiskey and smoke now graced my lips from a deeply-forgotten place of simple _want_. We fucked as roughly as before but now completely sober and completely grateful for each other, eyes locked with lingering smiles and softer whispers from under covers.

It must have been some point in November when I noticed another toothbrush on the bathroom sink.

"So you don't have to run out of here so fast."

An open empty dresser drawer greeted me on a following night.

"Dunno how much longer you wanna be doing that walk of shame outta here."

I might have accidentally smashed a couple picture frames while he was having his way with me against that bookcase. 

He paused to sweep up the broken glass and push it aside for the time.

"Hank...I'm okay, I promise. I haven't done that all year."

"I know, just don't like thinking about it."

When he was off-shift, he'd pick me up from work without warning, take-out already prepared in the backseat, and drive me to a park bench along the river for dinner.

We only returned to Riverside once during this period to drink on the swing set which ended in awkwardly making out inside that damn plastic castle.

"Ah fuck, almost forgot."

I had to lift away from over him as he fumbled inside his jacket to reveal a thin metal rod.

I pushed off to one side and propped up, curious what this was as he ran his thumbs along the object.

"How the fuck do you..._ ah shit_. Oh!"

It took me a second to realize what it was as Hank was initially holding it upside down.

The interior of the castle suddenly illuminated with a soft red glow and from the rod had spouted several holographic petals that formed a rose, green thorns ran along the 'stem', and after a few seconds, a small blue butterfly appeared and fluttered around the flower.

"Connor got one of these for his girl a while ago. I liked it, got one, too, thing's just been rattling around in the car all year. You know, figured if you ever... I dunno, here."

I took it from him and laid back down in the tight space with legs bent up, holding the object over my face with my head in the crux of his arm. He lazily swiped a few fingers along my skin as we watched the butterfly disappear and return from another angle.

"You like it?"

"Yeah...yeah, Hank, I love it. Thank you."

God _damn _this man better buckle his seatbelt because I was quickly finding myself biting back dangerous words.

_ I had to be sure_.

* * *

We took a few days to clean out his garage so he could at least have enough room to squeeze the vehicle in to one side. The moment the door shut and the area plunged into darkness, we managed to find each other and I perched on the end of the hood, already fumbling with this belt.

“We’re not gonna dent it, Hank, stop griping.”

He told me after as we lay in the backseat that he was considering going to the animal shelter before the end of the year.

"D'you wanna come?"

"Don't you want to wait for Connor?"

"Mm? Nah. We talked the other day, forgot to tell you. Once he and Lana come back down he's gonna move in with her. Told me to just send pictures once I picked one."

"Yeah? Good for them."

"Yeah. Gonna be weird but I'm happy for him."

"Aww. Proud dad you are!"

He scoffed. "Whatever. But ya, if you wanna come with. And then uh, I dunno, you're already over so damn much and you don't own a lot…"

"You asking me to move in?"

_ Grunt_. "I guess."

"You don't think it's a little soon?"

"Alex, I'm fuckin' 55 years old. I could have a goddamn heart attack at any second and I'll probably need Viagra within the next ten years if I'm not dead before then or throw out my back. So yeah, I'm fuckin' asking you to move in."

“I’ll think about it.”

* * *

We had a Thanksgiving dinner date back at the amphitheater, courtesy of the various food trucks, and then another at the Detroit Institute of Arts a few days before Christmas Eve. (The museum now featured an entire wing of recent android artists with a special traveling selection by Markus himself.)

Hank paused next to me at one corner of an exhibit. “I know Connor woulda liked this but I’m glad he’s still away. Said he’ll be back before New Year’s. It’s nice to uh...you know, just be with you. Out. Out in public. Like this.” Hank was fumbling for words and gave up his stammering and walked off to another corner.

We paused after a half hour or so and I sat on a bench in the middle of an empty gallery. Exactly five years as of last month when I first met Hank. He’d been through so much, changed so much. He even stood a little straighter, eyes brighter. Give it some more time and his hair would be completely white. I hoped it would be a while. I liked this shade.

Hank caught me spacing out and staring at him.

“What’re you lookin' at?”

“Just talking to myself.”

“That’s not a good sign, Al,” he teased. “What’re you saying?”

“I want to ask you something. But don’t freak out, all right? Please.”

He peered at me and crossed his arms. “I’ll be sure to tighten my laces…”

“Hank, have you uh - have you ever thought of getting remarried? And I don’t - hey, I don’t mean to me, I just - in general, have you ever thought about it?”

“Why the hell are you asking me this, Al?”

“Nothing! Nevermind. Forget it.”

“Lemme tell you something. My ex-wife and I, we were high-school sweethearts. Married the second I got out of the academy. Waited a long while until we decided to have Cole. And once...after the accident, _ fuck _ , she blamed me for _everything_. I know you picked up on that shit when I was at the bar. For life to just fuckin’ deck you in the face like that, when that’s the majority of your life and it just _ends _...come on, you know I’m still not 100%. Never will be. Too old for it anyway. Where is this coming from?”

I pushed out a sigh and did my best to maintain eye contact, failing miserably with each hesitant sentence.

“After what happened with Connor and Lana and seeing them be so renewed together...I know she wanted to tell him she loved him that night of the gala. She pulled me aside. She was nervous. I would assume by now she has but I keep thinking if she hadn’t, if something worse had happened to her or him, if Connor never heard that...that would have been pretty fucked up. And it reminds me of the night I found you again in the park and you said you thought I had died...and I…”

Tears were burning again and I was losing my voice. I hadn’t realized I was scratching at a patch of skin on my legs through a rip in my jeans and immediately stopped when the smallest drop of blood welled up. I clasped my hands in my lap and rubbed my palms in circles. Hank hadn’t moved but he was looking at me with a mix of confusion and concern while chewing the corner of his lip. Or was this paralyzing nervousness because he knew what was coming next.

“I should have told you... I should have told you I loved you that night before I left. I don’t know, hindsight’s 50/50, ya know. I came so close to being killed while helping those androids. Those bullet wounds were just the start. I can’t tell you how many we dodged while running through the farms. How often I almost got a tire blown out. But I had to come back so I could tell you. It should have been a lot sooner. I was terrified that it would have made everything real and… I don’t know. I don’t know why I didn’t. Maybe I didn't realize it until later.”

Another couple had meandered into this section but swiftly moved on as they could tell this area was reserved.

I paused and wiped my hands down my face. Hank stepped forward, pulled out a crinkly tissue from his pocket - “It’s clean, all right? Don’t give me that look” - and pressed it to the blood on my leg.

I held his hand atop and muttered an apology.

“Don’t gotta apologize, Al... _ Fuck... _I shoulda told you, too. That night I did a little Russian Roulette in the kitchen, told you about that, right? Yea. After that... I was hoping you’d come back. Pain in my dick… But why the fuck are you asking me about marriage? _Geez_…”

I managed to chuckle through my nose without pushing out tears. My heart faltered at his words and the feel of his hand. I struggled to speak again. “I don’t know. I know it’s silly. I never thought about it as a kid. Never had the ideal dress or the cake or the venue. No perfect husband. Never once. Now I’m - I’m not entirely opposed. Could just be at the courthouse. No goddamn dress. No fucking heels. No tie. Maybe a couple flowers stolen from someone’s yard. A Ring Pop. One witness.”

“Hah. Connor would throw me off a fuckin’ rooftop if I didn’t pick him.”

I looked to my side to see a smile fade away from Hank’s lips, his eyes unfocused between our hands and tissue on my leg, the floor tiles, and the artwork before us.

“Is that your way of saying you love me, Hank?”

After a moment of silence, he lifted the tissue away and shoved it in a back pocket before leaning forward again to clasp his hands between his knees.

“Guess so,” he said. We exchanged weak smiles before he let me lean down to steal a kiss.

“You fuckin’ asking me to marry you?” he asked upon release.

I chuckled and shook my head, leaning back. “Not yet. I think I’d like to move in first. I can’t take anyone else thinking I work at Eden.”

“_Shit_. Does that happen a lot?”

“Enough.”

“All right, but if you move in, you and I both know that Connor and his girl are gonna try to catch a peek. Kid won't even knock. Just gonna find him standing in the doorway one day.”

“Didn't think you were so ashamed of your body, Hank. That might just be a risk we have to take.”

“...ah, _ fuck. _”

* * *

* * *

* * *

**2042**

"Hey, Hank."

_Grunt_.

"You on shift later?"

"Nah."

"Do you wanna go out?"

"I guess. What're you thinkin'?"

"Do you wanna get married?"

_Grunt_. "Sure."

"Good. We have an appointment at four."

**Notes for the Chapter:**

> Title credit: Missio. "Do you still love me like you used to?" _The Darker the Weather the Better the Man_, 2019.  
Thank you again to all who's followed this story.


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